I’m planning to spend the summer holidays with Mum and Dad in Northumberland as I’d like to check out Newcastle as a potential move following my PGCE and… well, because Mum and Dad are awesome. – Zoe, 23/05/2017
Ahem, sooo… I kickstarted teacher training at the end of August 2017 with a team building day at Ferry Meadows, which included raft building with absolute strangers and probably definitely catching Cholera. Unfortunately, quitting teacher training in November 2017 was nowhere near as ‘fun’. Although returning to the PRU saved my sanity in some respects, everything else just seemed to be getting more and more… pooey. My non-relationship of over two years became such a complex and mind fucking experience that I genuinely thought I was going insane. I’d lost myself completely. Shame on me.
Taking a break at Christmas to visit my parents was epic. Not just because I now own a T-shirt with Kit Harington’s face emblazoned on it, but because it was a jolly good piss up with my two favourite people in the world.
No, I’m not having a baby.
And who doesn’t love the beach? Or Northerners for that matter. I knew then that I was moving… immediately, of course.
Before packing all of my worldly possessions (mostly socks and chilli plants) into my Kia Picanto, I cadged a train to London to grace my brother and Becca with my sterling company. Only I wasn’t so sterling, because after far too much wine, sausage rolls and Cards Against Humanity, I got aggy and stormed out in my pyjamas.
Fluffy, pink pyjamas. Yeh.
I thought moving into my parents might change a few things; I guess in hindsight, I didn’t really give it long enough. I found a job really quickly, and honestly the job was fine. But every little thing just kept tipping me over the edge. I cried for days. I quit the job and I took some time to switch off from the world completely.
But within maybe 12 hours(?) it started happening again… I was looking at jobs overseas. And then I was looking at property. And then I was looking at flights. And then I had applied to a job in France and then, a day later, I’m employed by a chalet company in Morzine.
Oh. My. God. What am I doing?
On top of that, as I’m flicking through emails from France and drowning in travel documents, I receive a very unexpected message. The ‘Beast From The East’ was actually giving the British a decent-ish reason to discuss the weather, and Heart radio station in London wondered if I wanted to shed any light on how badly we’re coping with it all (being an expert on Siberian weather, I said, ‘да, конечно’). The next day, I’m speaking live on air to Baby Spice and the rest of London, dressed in a onesie and from my bed.
Now that that craziness (and huge confidence boost) is over, I’m not sure if I’m particularly pleased with my impulsive decision to piss off to the French Alps and leave everything and everyone behind… again. Thankfully, it’s only 7 weeks and as always, I’m prepared to share all impending body malfunctions and gross misjudgements I’m likely to encounter. You lucky devil.