The Boy's back in Town

They say that every good comes to an end, and unfortunately Bristol is at an end.

I have to admit that it was with a bit of trepidation that I got in my car 10 weeks ago and drove down to Bristol. I had been there once as a student, for a drunken night out, and other than the University I didn't really know anywhere around. I was also heading to the "Head Office" where the big scary bosses all lived. It didn't help that until the Friday morning (heading down on the Sunday) that I was told where I was staying. At one moment it was going to be a serviced apartment, then it was going to be house sitting for the neighbour of the Big Grand Poobah of Clinical Risk (could have been a very nice house, but knowing my luck the accidental setting fire to the kitchen for the boss' neighbour whilst they were on holiday didn't strike me as being a great way to advance up the promotion ladder!) and finally a flat share......and not a flat share with a colleague or someone else from the office, but a random, from the paper (I had heard about the murder in Bristol at New Year, and more importantly so had my Mother.....a wonderful Mother Hen, who had already told me that she would be worrying about me......) In the end it was a serviced apartment which was incredible......thank you Saco.

As it was my concerns were completely unfounded, and I found in Bristol a city in which I felt more at home than anywhere other than Hull (and possibly York) and where I fell totally in love with the city, the office and the work. This may have had something to do with being able to have a life outside work and commuting, but I really don't think so.

I think that how much I enjoyed Bristol came home when, having been back travelling to Manchester each day for two days the wonderful train network decided that after 14 hours awake the train stopped at Leeds and decided it would go no further. Another 90 minutes to my day before I got home and as I stood watching the minutes tick by on the large clock when I noticed the train for Bristol Temple Mead station sitting at the platform opposite. It was with great difficulty that it stopped me climbing the stairs and crossing the tracks before jumping on to the train to escape back to Bristol.

So it's back to the slog, but the move to York has been assured, and if it can't be managed, you never know I may return to become a plastic Southerner......(not only for the cider!)