So, I decided to do something about it. I hit the reset button. I’m moving further up the country into a mobile home on a farmer’s land. Low rent and no bills, and I can be at one with all the chickens, dogs, and horses you could possibly imagine.

Over the last year I shared a house with 3 other guys, and while they were all great, you’d have to time your bathroom trips and cooking decisions based on whatever everyone else was doing. On many occasions I wouldn’t be able to eat before I left for work. Now I can cook in my pants at any time of the day.

And I can stand in my pants outside my door and stare at the fields, trees, and animals surrounding me. It’s very, very peaceful here. Not exactly the most exciting life, but it will give me time to repair a broken heart.

And it’s not all darkness. I’ve got a good job which I excel at, one of my books is bouncing around agents and getting good feedback and being recommended to publishers but isn’t quite catching yet, and my other book is being made into an audio book by a BBC radio presenter. And my new home is warm, waterproof, and bigger than the room, hotels, and sofas I’ve been sleeping on over the last two years, so add it all together and things will be good for me in the end. I just gotta get past the tears and the choking despair that haunt my every day. It’s surreal. I’ve been here before, but unlike last time I know I’ll get through this, that I’ll come good in the end. I just have to be patient.

So until then, the plan is to stay here, fix myself, and if I play it right the money I’m saving could and should have me debt free by the end of next year and maybe one day I might actually be able to move on. So, if anyone wants a broken and lonely old man who lives in a caravan with a bunch of chickens for friends, please form an orderly queue.

Fuck life. I’m not very good at it. But I am doing something about it.

Trailer trash and proud.