Nearly two years have passed since I wrote this, and it's about time I started again.
I'm not going to write a long essay explaining, filling in and catching up.
The trick is to start in media res and take it from there. Like all the best psychological novels, the story will be told partly in flashback.
We drove away from the house. I felt no emotion. I had lived there almost 23 years but now I was just glad to be gone. Should have moved three years ago or more. So much hassle, delay, problems.
Three and a half hours later, we checked into a hotel. It hadn't taken that long to drive down, but we had spent enough time faffing in Storage. Fortunately, we didn't have to stay and supervise the unloading of the Van into two storage units, 140 square feet in total.
Jimmy wasted no time in going to bed. He was tired, and had good reason to be. I was tired, too, but wired, and went outside the hotel to smoke.
I didn't need to hang around the doorway; I could sit on a bench on The Leas, overlooking the sea. People went past. Some going home from work, most just promenading, strolling, enjoying the afternoon sun. Momentarily, I felt resentment - everybody else enjoying the simple pleasures, whilst we skulk indoors. And, in an instance, I saw the future, where it will no longer be necessary to fit life's simple pleasures in between a tedious journey to and from London.
We spent three nights in the hotel, and, mainly, ate there too. Great chance to recharge some batteries.
