We stand outside in the early Friday evening. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” I offer; “yeah, so am I” is his response. We shake hands, wish each other the best of luck, and I cycle off into the sunset.
Well, almost: the rear tyre of my bike is utterly wrecked and the sun isn’t due to set for another three hours and twenty minutes, but “I walk my sorry-looking bike off into the slightly faded daylight, sweating gently” hasn’t got the same ring to it. It also thoroughly ruins the poetic nature of the story if I mention that the story concludes later that night with a bike repair, a cycling pub crawl and my first game of bar billiards.
However you look at it, bar billiards just ain’t that poetic.
Sunsets and associated poncery aside, the date of this story is August 21st, the time is 17:45, and the event is leaving my first “real” job. As I mentioned in my last post, I’ve been working for Torchbox in the Cotswolds for the past three months. As of last Friday, that is no longer the case. I shan’t go into details in such a public forum: suffice it to say that it wasn’t the job I thought it would be and, for various reasons, wasn’t the job I wanted.
This does, of course, leave my life plans in something of a state of flux: more of this in part 2. (See? Episodic content all the way. Next thing you know I’ll be releasing my blog on Steam.)