The curious thing about blogging - unlike just plain writing - is that you don't know who you're writing for. Will anyone read this? Will strangers? Or just friends and family that I send the link to? Or will my posts remain my own (not-so) secret diary of the days when I had two small children, a far-away husband and a mid-life crisis to worry about?
In case anyone who doesn't know me pops in for a peek, let me explain. One year ago I lived in Cheshire with my husband, ran a small business, had two kids settled at school and good friends nearby. Then Big G - that's the husband - took a great job in America where he grew up. The plan was we would follow him over the ocean and set up home ... but ... we changed our minds. Long story, much soul-searching, anyway we didn't go. Returning 'home' to America turned out to be all the proof we needed that London is where our little family belongs. Tried to sell the house - didn't. Tried to sell the business - did. Took a job in my home town, scooped up the children, phoned the removal men, and here I am. Rather dazed and confused, but here I am. Waiting now, for Big G's return.
Meanwhile, L, B and I went for a meal tonight with my brother, his wife and their two mad boys in their little white cottage with a red door. I adore my brother. Always have. It's good to be home.