Ch...Ch...Ch...Ch...CHANGES

I had a dream about Bowie last night.

I've been having incredibly vivid dreams in the last 2 weeks. Last night I was at a party in a Gothic hotel owned by big Dave himself, where you were allowed to roller skate in the halls, and my old school friend was gluing cheese biscuits to a door.

Now, it felt tenuous, but I wondered if my strange and disturbed nights are stress related. I thought I would start with, of course, Google:

Please don't let me be pregnant. Please, please, please. WHY DID I GOOGLE IT!?

That's one theory according to a couple of the hokey listicles I found, but stress, along with illness, depression, the taking of certain drugs, and menopause can all apparently have the same effect.

Now, before I panic, I am going to assume that over pregnancy (and hopefully the others as well), my dreams are more likely linked to stress, if there is any link at all. You see, it's all change in camp St. George. 

As of the 14th November, I'll be leaving old London town and moving to Cambridge. 

Sorry if you were expecting something more grand, like I'm packing up my worldly possessions to go and live in Patagonia or something. But remember my post about starting small? Baby steps? Figuring out what I want to do? (No? Pffft. Go on, have a read).

Well this is a step. And actually it feels quite big as I'll also be moving in with my partner as well, and last time I did that it was the beginning of the end of a relationship and left me a little fragile. Also, as some of you will sympathise, leaving London is weird and hard. It tries to hold onto you, and you have to get a crowbar and prise yourself away from it's bright lights and promises. 

And even though you complain about it regularly, the smug sense of being a 'Londoner' will threaten to keep you here indefinitely and no amount of mocking from those outside the M25, laughing at your rent prices, will convince you otherwise.

I was one of these people, but in the last year London has started to feel less and less like my place.

Go on, get all Samuel Johnson on me, I know you want to.

I'm not tired of life, I'm tired of paying extortionate amounts of cash to live in a shoebox or with strangers with irksome habits. I'm tired of the traffic, the pollution, the tube, how long it takes to get everywhere, of dancing with death every time I cycle, of rudeness, and the sheer amount of people. I was walking out of London Bridge yesterday and it felt more like I was trying to battle my way through the hoards at Glastonbury than trying to get to work.

The bads have crept out in front of the goods, and although London will retain a big piece of my heart, thanks to it's kookiness, it's inimitable variety and charm, and all the ways it made me grow, it's time for a new chapter. 

So we have moving house, moving to a new city, moving in with a partner. The biggest contributor to my anxiety though is probably what I do about work. I've been dreading talking to my boss. But the transition has to begin, even though essentially I have no idea what I'm doing and what to do next. 

The arrangement I have now thankfully come to will give me 2 extra days a week to explore whatever paths I feel the need to explore, which I think will be food based. Food is something I'm passionate about, and the impact I'd like to have in my corner of the world is getting more people to eat healthy, tasty, local and seasonal food that is sourced ethically.

Cambridge has a wonderful but still growing independent food scene so it should be a good place to start. Also, look how pretty:

Photo credit: http://www.jamesappleton.co.uk/ 

Good job mate.