…tumbleweed…
It’s not that I would like a sending off ceremony, far from it. I am not the type to throw a party for myself, ever actually. An old girlfriend threw me a surprise Birthday bash for my 21st. Hated it. Not comfortable in the glare.
What has been interesting is that although my moves are out of London soon, it will make absolutely no difference to those whom I know, or knew best. I never see them anyway. It is very likely that I will see them more out of town than I have since getting married 7 years ago..
So with all talks surrounding ‘moving parties’ which frankly make me squirm a bit I have, much against my better judgement, been persuaded in having a drinks bash. In the glare. Whilst the send-outs fluttered about the net with .pdf accuracy, slowly but surely the RSVPs have come in. One after another..
Interestingly, the people dropping out are all those whom I think will benefit my not living in London anyways, the people I have known longest in London. The people I never actually see anymore in London. The people I guess I have just about let go. Just so different now…
The reason I don’t like the glare is that it brings to a point such tremendously fragile egocentric feelings. Does a “sorry, I can’t come” mean a “to be honest pal, I never knew you still lived anyway”? Does a “mate I would love to, but I have to………” mean “why on earth do you think I would travel to south London to have a drink with you anyway?” The glare offers no let up.
To those leaving a town they have grown up in, “don’t let it bring you down, it’s only castles burning, just find someone who’s turning and you will come around….”
To those drinking, salute. You were always going to be there. No matter what.
