“Choose a life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers… Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning….
But why would I want to do a thing like that? ”
I toiled with what to call this blog, what should it be about and what the tone should be. I am 34 years of age, Married with two children and am about to move them all to Scotland and declare myself bankrupt.
How I got here is a long and uninteresting story which I will get into in later posts, but for now lets just say that things got fucking complicated and now I’m pressing Ctrl - Alt - Del and resetting things for the Act 2 Scene 1 of my life.
I’m generally a positive, glass half full but get me another pint anyway type of guy. I grew up in a working class area and worked bloody hard every day I could.
I will be keeping this blog anonymous while going through this process but plan to be as open about our approach as possible when it is all over.
I will try to keep this light, honest and frequent. I have lots to say and might get some time to say it over the next 16 months or so. I also plan on losing 3 stone and training for a marathon, but I’ve said that before, and I have a bogey knee so don’t hold me to that one.
As for the name of the blog, I’m moving to fuckin’ Scotland and am from the Trainspotting generation.
My favourite scene….
Dealer: So, how much would you like for this?
Begbie: 20,000.
Dealer: Well, I don’t think it’s worth more than 15.
Renton: [narration] This was a real drag to him. He didn’t need to negotiate. I mean, what the fuck were we going to do if he didn’t buy it? Sell it on the streets? Fuck that.
Begbie: Well… 19.
Dealer: Terribly sorry, I can’t go to 19.
Begbie: [flustered] Well, fuckin’ 16, then.
Dealer: [chuckles] Okay. “Well fuckin’ 16” it is, then.