Life ends at 45

...thought that might get your attention. Though the title of this post, as Tim Lott once observed of a tiresome Freddie Mercury routine, is a bit like the old man producing a rat from under his rain coat. The thrill wears thin after the first few repeats. Appropriate metaphor indeed...I had said that the relocation from Deira to Dire Diary might produce some observations on life back in blighty, so here it belatedly is, though without the satire desired my my wife. Approaching 2 months back in the country, I am heading toward the fork in the road, and am, as usual, determined not to take it. I had hoped to avoid thinking about my professional future, had even thought I might avoid the middle east (see July posting) but knew that this aspect at leastwas a delusion .

We are both intent on the road trip from next month; the rest, who knows? Some possibilities exist for me from UAE contacts and from elsewhere that could pay the bills from the winter; other options would suck me back into the London slog that I have been avoiding and which friends tell me to avoid.

I am currently having my wife's suggestion that we could never have had kids emphasised to me by the experience of having our nephew in the house for a couple of nights. My reaction to him is my father all over. Flexibility has never been my strongest suit.

Life is short. I will focus on the luck of being free of an employer for the time being and must make the most of it until the road trip beckons. More vinyl therapy is definitely needed; this after all was virtually the whole reason for taking time out in the UK.