I wrote a poem called "Moving On" a while back, it was about that feeling of excitement and ill at ease-ness that comes with major changes, and was actually based on leaving the place where I spent my college years for the big bad world - I think I posted it as a bus poem, but can't see it anywhere now, but anyhow.
Like the littlest hobo, I'm on the road again, not yet exactly, but it's imminent, my departure from Dubland and alot of the lovely things that I have grown to enjoy here. I'm currently having the strange (and slightly ghostly) experience of watching myself be replaced in three different areas.
One is at the place where I've merrily stirred the gravy for a bit of dough for the last two years. It's a small family business, with a small but very friendly work force, some of whom I'll miss a terrible lot, if only for their crazy Dubland ways. People in suits and nice hair cuts are streaming in every day looking for the coveted place at my desk and bench and my soon to be former bosses are agonising over who they can get who'll turn out to be slightly more useful to them than I was.
Second Place is on the radio. I'm handing over the Sunday Scrapbook Earphones to a local hero and excellent entertainer called Eamonn Lynskey, who's just won a residence at the Heinrich Boll cottage, blogs over here and is going to take the show and shape it into something great. I've had such a ball doing it and meeting all those great writers, and I look forward to tuning in for his version. But first there'll be another one or two little offerings from my good self.
And the Final area is as facilitator for the Honey Fungus Group - aka Lucan Teen Writers. I've been enjoying their company, and getting truly inspired by their work for the past few years, and I know they'll continue to go from strength to strength. They took about two seconds to think of someone they'd like to get to replace me, (almost seeming indecently eager about it), and for the last couple of sessions we've had the company of a young, talented history and classics teacher who should see them safely continuing their journeys in writing for the next good while. As I was saying to them, it'll be great to have someone handy who actually knows stuff about stuff.
So like Mary Poppins, we'll be off when the wind changes - myself, Mr VC, the dog, the gold fishes, the potted plant...
But where to? and what else will I miss about Dubland? what other adventures await?
Well, that's another story and shall be told at another time