An exciting post day
Holding a physical copy of my new book in my hands for the first time
I was at my parents’ house in Northampton on Friday morning when the post arrived.
Having moved around a lot as an adult (four cities, multiple rooms and flats and houses in each, various stopgaps in between), I’ve mostly kept my Mum and Dad’s as my main postal address. The day I finally live somewhere permanently enough to have a bank statement delivered there is going to feel momentous. Who has the energy to do all of that admin when you’re just going to move again in six months?
Unwanted bank statements make up the bulk of my letters (reminder to self: log in and go paperless), along with even more unwanted tax reminders and, recently, a letter informing me that Boris, the dog I got strong-armed into sponsoring during a vulnerable moment at the NEC earlier this year, had died. They tried to move me onto a creepy little Pomeranian called Ralph but it felt like a good time to part ways with the Dogs Trust (sorry Ralph, I know it’s what’s on the inside that counts really). Anyway, as y…