You can't step into the same river twice

I don't think Hereaclitus was talking about the Trent

I was driving home on Thursday afternoon after a meeting in Bath. As I was approaching Nottingham a little voice in my head said: 'If you still lived here you'd be home now.' But I don't. However, even though I haven't lived there for over five years, the voice comes back to me most times I pass Junction 24 of the M1. And so begins a further two hours behind the wheel.

Of course, if I ever did return, the place I'd be going back to would not be the same place I left behind in 2010. And neither am I the same person. The recent recordings I'd made with The Number One Son which I was listening to as I was breezing through the East Midlands that afternoon would definitely not have happened if I'd stayed put. The friends we were meeting at the weekend would be blissfully unaware that I existed if I'd not upped sticks. The events of the last five years have had a profound effect on me in more ways than I can begin to describe here. Moving away from a place I'd lived for well over half my adult life was a leap of faith. And even though I have a love hate relationship with my new billet, I'm painfully aware that me being here is something that had to happen. How long I'll stay here is anyone's guess. Then again, like the majority of the population, my predicting the future skills are almost non existent. Thankfully.