The Rebirth

I’ve been on The Island for four weeks now, just shy, and we are ending the first ‘holiday’ phase. The kids start school on Wednesday and it will be splendid to gain routine to our days. It is very easy to drift along when you have no purpose, and our days have been drifting for a few weeks now. Our routine, up until now, has been loosely, writing or paperwork in the morning and then a beach visit in the afternoon. We have been blessed with good weather so we have made the most of it while it lasts, and also it is good to spend some time with the family, which is one of the reasons why we moved here in the first place. But, we are now naturally nearing the end of this cycle, and so the kids starting school is to be a welcome change, and also a wakeup call to get things moving.

It’s sometimes difficult to remember why we’re here in the first place, but to recap, I will state some reminders.

• ·         Spend more time as a family
• ·         Be able to give Sophie more support
• ·         Give Dylan a better lifestyle and upbringing on the beach
• ·         Escape from being dependent upon another person’s decisions
• ·         Create a life that we love, the perfect balance of work and play
• ·         No ceiling on future earnings
• ·         No time wasted on corporate dead days
• ·         MASTER OF OUR OWN DESTINY

We are very fortunate to have the opportunity to be able to do this, and instead of watching that opportunity pass us by, we are living it, now. It feels quite liberating to know that we’ve pushed through the system and are now sitting on the other side of the gates. What we need to make sure now is that we don’t get complacent, the gate is still open and we now have to keep the momentum up, albeit recharged from a rest period, to make sure that we close the gate and set ourselves up on this side.

A conversation that I had this week allowed me to observe how increasingly common it seems for someone in a similar position, and age, to myself to radically change their life. I know of one of my friends who has just relocated to Dubai, another that is ‘throwing away’ a highly qualified position to buy a ski chalet in France and live there whilst running it as a business, and that’s just this month.

I’ve commented before on how times have changed since my parents’ generation, when one had a job for life and the target was always to achieve this and then ride it out, you would be looked after at the end and if prudent along the journey you might have a bit more than just comfortable. The reality of this utopia has now changed. I feel sorry for those of that generation that began their journey with one destination and then sat by helpless as the bus stopped everywhere else but.

The reality of professional life these days is that you are worthless to a large company, you are a commodity that is analysed for value and compared with cheaper, less quality, alternatives all around the world. This is all out of your hands and when the time comes to restructure, guess who’s looked after, not you. People are increasingly taking their lives back into their own hands, and the only way that you can achieve this is by setting up on your own where you are no longer reliant on others.

If you decide that you’re going to do this then you then have two choices; either do what you do but as a consultant, or do something completely different that you’ll love. The people that I’m talking about that our making these changes are often highly qualified, and have spent the last ten years collecting bits of paper like they’re in the Crystal Dome, so the risk of moving out of that field is mitigated by a qualifications safety net. Most people I have discussed this with say the same thing, “if it all goes pear-shaped then I’ll just do what I do now.” The fact is that now people feel empowered to take their life back, and those that are in a privileged position to exploit this, are.

Signs of discontent can be seen all over the country, and the world, at the moment in all demographics. A higher post-retirement age workforce than ever before due to empty promises made thirty years ago, the youth rebelling and feeling completely disassociated due to no real opportunity or guidance to be trained or have a purpose, companies laying off thousands of people for cheaper alternatives overseas, public schoolboy bankers killing the system due to unregulated greed over the last decade, and no connection between any of these groups of people,  a hung Parliament that’s caused by no obvious solution of how to get out of this mess. It feels as if we have now broken IT. Whatever IT was is now no longer worth it.

This situation forces a person to regain control of their life; this is why we’re all here. We’re not born into this world to be a product of a system; we’re here to strive forward, to make a positive impact on others, to become better people and to be happy. As long as we’re blaming others for our own misfortunes then we’ll never achieve any of this. We must take control and if you’re in a position where you can do something about it, then why wouldn’t you? 

The Exodus (Part 4)

“Here it comes,” shouted Mike down the stairs, as he viewed the removals lorry pulling up outside his house, from his vantage point of his bedroom window.

They had been up north for four weeks since leaving the Isle of Wight the last time, and in that period they had been extremely busy. They had crammed in four weddings, three joint leaving do’s, two gigs, numerous leaving drinks with numerous different people, a recording studio session, and the packing of their entire possessions into boxes.

The friends, acquaintances and hangers on that they had said goodbye to reached into the hundreds and the response from them all was overwhelming. Mike and Claire had not appreciated how much people loved them, and how many lives they had touched along the way, and now that it was coming to an end there were a number of emotional moments. However, they had observed that the other people were commonly more emotional and upset than they were, and this was put down to a theory of Mike’s, that the good gentleman will not mind being stated in this journal as he is a subscribing member.

‘Life is about moving. One must move from one place to another, one must meet different people, one must busy themselves with different activities, one must in general experience new stimuli in order to grow and develop and truly live a full life. Each time you try something different it will always feel uncomfortable at first because humans inherently feel comfortable with what they know. This is the defence mechanism that we are born with and the wall that must be overcome in order for people to live the fullest of lives.

When a person tries something different their focus is on the destination, their energy is concentrated on achieving something good, and this generates an amount of excitement and enthusiasm. When they say goodbye to someone from their existing life, that person holds a certain amount of envy because someone else is being brave and making a change, but also the sadness comes from that person concentrating on the emptiness that will be caused by someone leaving their life, as opposed to the excitement being felt by the leaver.’

Anyway… let us continue with the main plot.

The main nub of this initial prose is to put across to the reader that Mike and Claire were extremely busy in the month between leaving the Isle of Wight and then having to return to the Isle of Wight.

Mike finished work a week before they left, and so Claire was charged with completing most of the early packing, which of course the honourable lady carried out with minimal fuss and efficient delivery. They then both concentrated on the completion of the task in the last week together. To paint a picture that would provide the witness with a sense of scale of the packing mentioned, it could be said that they had enough boxes to build a replica ‘Wall’ that Pink Floyd used in their presentation of ‘The Wall’ when performed live in London when the album was released. They could have built a copy of the Berlin Wall if East Berlin and West Berlin were the size of two Penalty Areas. I think you will have the picture now, needless to say that they filled a big lorry with their contents.

And it is with the lorry appearing that we re-join our intrepid travellers. It was around 3 o’clock when Mike had shouted downstairs, and by six o’clock the removals men, of which there were two, had closed the lorry for the day and made their beds within it. They then spent the night parked outside Mike and Claire’s house, sleeping in relative luxury in some built in beds in the cab.

Mike and Claire’s evening was somewhat different to this. Up until eight o’clock everything was fine, and then Sophie, their daughter, chose to violently vomit all over herself, her toys and her blanket. It would have been just one of those things if the washing machine hadn’t been packed by then, and then throughout the night Mike and Claire were on an all-night vigil as Sophie could not settle and then had a seizure at four o’clock in the morning. They all slept on the living room floor as all of the beds had been packed, and a scene less like Trainspotting had never been seen before.

When the removals men knocked on the door at eight o’clock the next morning, Mike and Claire had slept for roughly two hours each. They then had to muster enough energy to continue to pack the rest of their belongings into the lorry, and also once the lorry had departed, they then had to clean the house from top to bottom in order to leave it in a desirable state for their successors into 439 Manchester Rd. This would have been achieved with less effort if Claire had then not caught the bug that Sophie had, and was then also laid out on some bags in the now empty lounge, in a scene compared to the fateful end of Lord Admiral Nelson.

Through grit and determination, and the help of one Mother-in-Law, they managed to vacate the property by four o’clock and make the long drive down to Southampton, made longer by the lack of sleep and sickness that followed them like the Grim Reaper. As Mike laid his head upon the pillow that evening he reflected on the past 48 hours, and considered that all in all it had been an incredible trial, but one that they had ridden through and now they were surely on the downhill finale.

The foursome had become a five, with a tribal elder joining their party, as they sat on the ferry the next morning. The tribal elder with all of their wisdom and generosity had supplied Mike with a bacon sandwich which he was now tucking into, in this hour of respite before the next onslaught began. For once they were off the boat he knew that they would then have to empty the contents of the lorry, which took them about eight hours to load in the first place.

After collecting the keys from the estate agent and signing the necessary papers, and more importantly paying the first six month’s rent, they then hot footed round to their new abode to remind themselves of exactly what they had done. They weren’t disappointed. The house seemed bigger than they remembered and the sea views were better than they remembered, and this encouraged them to get settled in as quickly as possible so that they could enjoy living there as soon as possible.

All of the boxes and furniture were off loaded in five hours, which was slightly quicker than the time it had taken to get them on in the first place, but the reason for this was the state that they left each of the rooms in. This of course was not the removal men’s fault, but there were boxes piled high everywhere you could see, and the eventual clearing of these boxes took the next week to finally get through.

The exodus from the North was complete. The Isle of Wight was now their home, and a list of endless opportunity waits to be seized. This is being written from an attic room whilst gazing through the window at the English Channel, and watching boats travel to and fro in the background. This is the dream that I’m now living, and it’s now up to us to take as much of it as we want. 

The Exodus (Part 3)

The Holley family endured the next few days of their busman’s holiday much in the same vein that they had survived the first day. They viewed another three houses and ruled out another two houses due them being situated in the completely wrong places, and by the end of this they had finally come to a conclusion. The Victorian-semi that they had viewed on the first day was the choice that they had opted for and they made their way to the estate agents in Newport to sign the necessary paperwork and make it official.

They had heard in the week of another family that were relocating from Jersey, and had proved to be their nemesis on another property, and they were concerned that this could happen again if they didn’t act quickly. So, this was seen to be very much the final act.

“What’s this admin charge for?” asked Mike, dressed in a casual yet smart shirt and jeans combo, the type that he assumed yachters and entrepreneurs would carry off.

“That’s for us to complete any contracts, and file documents, and liaise between yourselves and the landlord etcetera,” replied the estate agent quickly.

“What, £200?”

“Yes, Mr Holley, it’s quite a normal rate.”

“Oh, just seems a little high that’s all,” resigns Mike raising his eyebrows and looking across at his wife, who reciprocates the look with a bit more anger included.

Claire was an estate agent for what seems like about three years, I am sure that the said good lady will confirm that this is incorrect, but for the sake of this journal and my recollection of my past, three years seems about right. Throughout this period Claire would single-handedly dispel any myth that estate agents were money grabbing, lying, vindictive, double faced arseholes, and actually carried through a crusade of honesty, integrity and reason. This was still her assumption of this profession as she ventured in to the house selling and renting process.

This is why every act that an estate agent completed that was against this moral code went like an arrow straight to her conscience. At the beginning this was met by confusion and disorientation, but as the process wore on the arrows seared through her soul, so that every lie crippled her roots and every made up statement was like an earthquake to her foundations. This was just the first of these statements in the next couple of days.

As Mike, Claire and the kids arrived back at the holiday chalet, where they were residing for the week, they were in high spirits and jubilant. Mike even found time to play football outside with Dylan and some neighbouring children. Everyone was having a blast and the scene of family bliss had been restored. This lasted an hour, and like a cloud sailing across the sun on a summer’s day, Claire received an email from the estate agent that was handling the sale of their house in Stockport.

“The absolute wannnnnnnnnnners,” was the first Mike heard of it, as Claire shouted and then supressed a certain swear word.

“What’s up my beautiful princess? What could possibly have spoilt your pleasant mood as we sit in the metaphorical rose garden?” asked Mike curiously.

“That t%@t of a damp specialist has filed his report and stated that the whole house is damp and it’ll cost two grand to sort it out.”

“What?”

“I went round the house with Steve and his damp meter and the only bits were in two alcoves and Steve had quoted a few hundred quid. I never liked that bloke when he came round, he had a shifty look. And he was the one that when asked what it was like, he didn’t tell me because ‘I wasn’t his client’.”

“Right, well, all we have to do is get Steve’s quote and counter it with that. Have we got Steve’s yet?”

“No, but we should. He’s hopeless with getting paperwork in.”

“Let’s tell our estate agent that we’ve got another report that is more realistic before we let the vendors know.”

“Too late, they’ve already sent this to the vendors and now nobhead wants two grand off the price.”

“Well, he’s not having it.”

“Let’s just tell them we’re taking it off the market and see what they do.”

“But, we can’t afford to do that. If we lose this buyer we’ll never get another one in time for when we move, and the amount of money that it’ll cost us if we end up renting ours up north will be worse than just making sure that this sale goes through. Ring the estate agent back and tell him that we’re going to submit another report because we don’t believe this one.”

Half an hour later once Claire’s face had returned to a normal shade for the second time, the new villain was the estate agent rather than the damp specialist. It had turned out that the estate agent was a friend of the damp specialist, and an argument had ensued where Claire’s stance that the damp guy was full of shit had been countered by the estate agent defending an upstanding member of his profession. A conclusion to this was that the estate agent was all for knocking two grand off the price because his motive of shifting our house off his books sooner rather than later was much more attractive than a long drawn out sale where he would actually have to earn his commission by doing something.  Obviously Claire disagreed with this and made sure that he knew that.

As the evening came around all they could do was wait for their builder to send in the report and see how that would influence things. This would unlikely happen until the week after, and so the attention came back on to the present location.

Mike began to look at Rightmove to remind himself of the property that they had just committed to for the next six months of their life. As he was scrolling through the properties in the relevant category, he suddenly noticed a house that he had not seen before. It was exactly in the area that he wanted to be in, with the right number of bedrooms and a bathroom downstairs. After raising his surprise to Claire they then deduced that this had been added today.

What was more surprising to the honest duo was the realisation that the letting agent concerned had confirmed that very day that there were no new properties to view. This conundrum then led to speculation through the night regarding the Machiavellian schemes of the said agents.

The morning brought with it a new day and a new hope. The sun came up to greet them over the wooden chalet balcony as it blasted through the missing balustrade. The warmth met their faces and the confidence surged back in to Mike’s veins.

“Hello, is Sam there?” Mike said as he rang the letting agent that they had committed the next six months to the day before. 

“Sam speaking, can I help?”

“Oh, hi Sam, just want to let you know that we may have possibly found a new property to view this morning, and I just wanted to ask you to put our contract on ice for a few hours, and then I’ll ring you to let you know one way or another. Is that alright?”

“Yeah, that’s absolutely fine, but you will still be liable for the admin charge.”

“What do you mean I’ll still be liable? We left your office at 4:30 yesterday afternoon and it’s now 8:30 the next morning. You can’t have processed anything yet?”

“I’m afraid it’s written in the contract that you are liable for this sum if you pull out of the agreement.”

“Well, that’s fair, isn’t it?” said Mike with the largest amount of sarcasm he could muster.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, right. Well I’ll ring you later this morning,” and Mike pressed the ‘End Call’ button, disgruntled.

But, not a man that is easily perturbed by one phone call on such a glorious morning, the family all piled into the Holley-mobile and sped off in search of the other letting agent before anyone else could nip in beforehand. The car screeched to a halt outside the office at 8:58am and Claire went up to the door that was locked, and was then kindly opened by an office incumbent.

The next minute Claire was back in the car and the red faced warrior was back. It had turned out that the property had been let already, but they were given the number of the owner of the property next door to the one they had seen. Information had been exchanged that divulged that the two properties had indeed been built by the same person but now one of them was owned by another party. This other party had let his out, whereas the initial owner was still holding on for a sale. It was worth a shot.

Unfortunately, the other property owner still wanted to sell his outright, so he rejected their offer, but was also surprised to hear that the other property had already been let, as the new owner of this property did not know yet. This again led to their suspicions of the letting agent and a conspiracy of an inside job, but surely life was too short for all of this doubt. Claire and Mike agreed that they were better out of this system as early as possible and went back to the original letting agent and confirmed that the Victorian-semi was still the choice of champions, and that they very much still wanted to live there for the next six months of their life, which could actually prove to be their last days.

The Holley-trolley then rolled out into the distance in search of a park and a beach, and a few hours to enjoy as a family before having to get back on the ferry and return to the North of England, for the last time in a long time.

The Exodus (Part 2)

“What have I got?” asked Mike in an excited weariness.

“A sausage roll,” replied Claire. “You can have one out of the pack of two. Dylan can have the other.”

 “Brilliant, so I eat the same as a four year old.”

 “Well, you can get something else in the shop if you want. I can’t remember everything.”

 “We’re trying to save money. I’m not paying these service station prices for a Ginsters slice that costs twice as much as normal.”

 “Well, there’s a bag of crisps in the car. Why don’t you have that as well.”

 “No, it’s alright,” he said in a resigned sort of way. “I’ll have them when we get back on the road. Let’s just get the kids fed and we’ll get back on it, as soon as we can.”

 “That’s what I was thinking as well. After all you can eat something more when you get to my mum and dad’s house if you want.”

 “Yeah, alright.”

 After another half an hour of feeding, weeing and changing, the family returned to their car to continue with the rest of their journey to Southampton. The traffic had been okay considering it was a Friday evening, but it always feels like a longer journey than it actually is. Over the last fifteen years, Mike had made this journey so many times that it really was beginning to feel monotonous now. The route had stayed the same throughout this time. M60, M56, M6, M42, M40, A34, M3, M27 and rest. It always surprised him why people would go any other way. He was an expert at this one route, and in his younger days he had set his record of three hours, but even now in his more responsible situation he could make the journey in three and a half hours. But now they had a new strategy of having dinner half way, at Warwick, this added another hour to the time, and so relatively it now felt a lot longer.

 It’s interesting how, on a long journey of any sort, the time goes much slower at the beginning and then you adjust to the nothingness between A and B and, almost as in meditation, your mind opens up and great ideas can drop in, and the time can race on as you are completely absorbed in your own reverie.

 It was an episode like this a couple of years ago when Mike first had the idea of how he could make this move really happen. He had been travelling back from Cambridge in the middle of the night, and he started to run through the sums on how much it would cost to live somewhere else, and more importantly do something different to his current day job as an accountant. The idea of moving to the Isle of Wight came later, during a family holiday there, but the initial idea of doing something different and breaking away from the norm had been planted in a similar driving trance. This time, however, the only thoughts running through his mind were the specifics of the itinerary that they would follow when they arrived in Cowes the following morning.

 “Ok, so what time are we getting there?” he asked Claire, even though he knew already.

 “I think it’s 10.30 in the morning, but you booked it,” replied Claire impatiently, as she had just begun to close her eyes.

 “Yeah, yeah, that’s right. 10.30. And what’s first on the list of things to do?”

 “We’ve got our first viewing at 1 o’clock, and we’ve then got to see another two with the same people.”

 “So, shall we have an early lunch, say 11.30ish?” Mike was obsessed with meal times since they had the kids, and Sophie was so difficult to feed. “We could go to the Yellow Submarine. You know the one in Cowes?”

 “Yeah, that sounds ok, and then we can go the house which is in Cowes anyway. So, perfect.”

 “Cool. Where are the other houses?”

 “I’ve told you all of this stuff already,” and she sighs, but then as Mike knew she would, she began to go through it all again. “All of these houses are in Cowes on the first day, and then we’re seeing some in Gurnard on Tuesday, and then we’re seeing the one on Rolls Hill on Wednesday.”

 “Blimey,” said Mike as he puffed his cheeks out. “We’ve also got to fit the schools in as well. When are they?”

 Claire gives him one of those looks, “There’s no point me telling these things to you,” and she pauses and takes a deep breath. “We’re going to see Gurnard Primary on Tuesday morning, we’re then going to see Hunny Hill on Wednesday, and Medina House for Sophie on Thursday. I don’t know why I bother.”

 Mike remained silent after this and his attention was briefly brought back to the road in front of him and more specifically an Electrical van moving across three lanes to come off at a junction.

 “I can’t wait for us to have sorted all of this stuff out,” said Mike as his mind came back to the conversation.

 “I just hope we do get it sorted this week,” said Claire doubtfully. “Because if we don’t get anything this week, then I don’t want to have to rely on Rightmove to choose a house. That would be rubbish. But we have to get it soon because we then need to tell the schools our address. If we can’t find a house when we’re there then it’s going to be a nightmare.”

 “Don’t worry, we’ll find something,” assured Mike. “The island’s full of houses and we just need one for six months. It’s a piece of cake. If it’s not ideal then so what. As long as it’s there, then everything else can begin to happen. It’ll be good, trust me.”

 Claire looked out of the window watching the cars moving in front of her, with an unconvinced look etched on her face, and then closed her eyes for a second attempt at a quick snooze.

 It had been a long morning already when the ferry finally arrived at the dock in East Cowes at ten thirty the next day. Mike and Claire had left the New Forest suburbs of Marchwood at 8:30am expecting there to be a lot of traffic on the roads, given that it was rush hour and that there were some road works near the ferry terminal. Instead it was a completely clear run and they had been waiting for 45 minutes before being waved in to the car hold in the bowels of Red Osprey.

 The sun was enjoying a rare outing that summer, so the family had sat outside on the deck for the one hour crossing, and although a bit of a wind, they had found it very pleasant. This had led to them being in a holiday mood as the car bounced off the ramp of the ferry, and instead of crossing into West Cowes via the small chain bridge, they decided to drive the long way.

 They then spent another hour in the car driving first to Newport and then the long way back round to Cowes, taking in Porchfield and Gurnard, scouting for houses as they went. Dylan was beginning to get tired of sitting in the car and had started getting irritated, which then manifest itself in irritating Mike and Claire.

 The Co-Op car park in Cowes could not come soon enough, as they all clambered out of the car and walked through West Cowes to the cafe. It was called Octopus’ Garden, which felt strange to Mike given that it was painted yellow and had the cartoon characters of the Yellow Submarine on the outside.

 “Well, it should be called Yellow Submarine, shouldn’t it?” questioned Mike to himself, knowing that Claire couldn’t care less if it was called Octopus’ Garden, Yellow Submarine or Back in the USSR.

 After lunch, in which most of Dylan’s meal was put in a box for later that day, they all walked back down West Cowes high street and drove up to where they were meeting the Estate Agent, outside a house at the top of Mill Hill Rd.

 “Oh, it’s a bit like our house at home,” mentioned Claire kindly, although in their minds they were thinking there’s no way that we’re going to stay here. It was very small and they were asking a lot for it, and the fittings were old and there was no real garden to speak of. The Estate Agent could tell that there was no match here, and after a few kind reasons, “we really need a downstairs toilet”, and “we’re looking for more garden”, and “we won’t get all of our furniture in here,” they drew a line under it and moved on.

 The next place was just down the road so they agreed to meet the agent outside it.

 “There’s no way we’re living there,” Claire began, when they returned to the car. “It was horrible.”

 “I know,” agreed Mike. “I hope the next one’s better than that. Did you see the kitchen?”

 “Hmmm. The next one looks quite good in the photos, fingers crossed it’s alright.”

 “It just doesn’t fit the image I’ve got in my head of living on the island,” said Mike. “I don’t know, it’s just that it looks pretty normal, really. Do you know what I mean?”

 “Yeah, but remember it’s only for six months.”

 “True, but we’ve got to be able to get better than that. Where did he say this place was?”

 “Turn left here, there he is.”

 This time the car pulled up around the back of a house where there was room for off-road parking. They then walked around the front to meet up with the Agent. It looked nice from the outside, a Victorian Semi, the type that, ironically, fills the Manchester streets. The first thing that Mike noticed was the great view of the sea as the road rolled down the hill and ended in the water. This was more like the vision in his head.

 As they walked first around the ground floor, then the middle floor, it became clear that this house was very similar to the one that they had been used to living in, with its high ceilings, good dimensions and character features. The two loft rooms held a nice surprise, due to their elevated position they both had fantastic views, and the one to the rear looked over the sea.

 “What’s that muck hanging from the curtain rail?” Mike turned and asked Claire smiling to himself. Claire noticed a Portsmouth scarf hanging on the curtains and so did the Estate Agent.

 “What’s wrong with that?” asked the Estate Agent.

 “Oh, know, you’re not a Portsmouth fan, are you?”

 “Yeah, why, I take it you’re a ...”

 “Yeah, a Saints fan...”

 “You’ll find that the island’s pretty much half and half. The east side’s Portsmouth and the West side’s Southampton, Cowes is pretty much split down the middle.”

 “Yeah, I suppose it is. I’ll have to remember to be careful with these comments. I’m used to people not even knowing where the two clubs are, let alone bothered by what you say about them.” Mike made a mental note to himself for when he moves there for good and then moved on.

 They then took in the garden, which had a large concrete seating area and then vegetable patch and turf beyond. Not the largest of gardens but enough outdoor space to enjoy.

 “This place rules out the first one, for definite,” said Mike as they sat back in the car.

 “Yeah, I really liked it too,” said Claire. “What did you like about it, Dylan?”

 “I liked the swing. Does a little boy live there?” asked Dylan.

 “I think there probably is,” answered Mike.

 “Can I have the swing?”

 “We’ll definitely get you a swing wherever we go, but we need to go round a few more houses before we can decide on which one we’ll live in. Is that ok?”

 “Yeah, I’m OK Daddy.”

 “Good boy.”

 It was then a short drive to the next house which was very similar but a bit smaller than the last one. It had recently been renovated though and the finish really was first class. It also had the additional benefit of a toilet downstairs, which the last one didn’t have. But the one factor that ruled this house off their list was the lack of parking outside the house. Like many Victorian terrace houses, the front door was directly on the pavement, and because of their need to have the car close to access with Sophie, the house was scratched from the list.

 Sophie fell asleep whilst being carried by Mike in this house, and by the time they had arrived back at the car, the weather had become really hot and muggy, Mike’s back was killing him from carrying Sophie for twenty minutes, and to top it off, they had received a parking ticket from parking in a Disabled bay but not paying for a ticket as well. It was their fault for not looking at the sign, and this made it feel even worse.

 A mystery house was offered up by the Estate Agent as a potential that he was just on his way round to take photos of, it was a converted church in St Marks Corner, which is a bit off the beaten track. So they decided to drive the three miles to try and find it.

 It certainly provided a large amount to think about. It had half an acre of garden and there was a balcony overlooking a great Solent view, with uninterrupted fields between. But in the end they decided that it just wouldn’t work for them, and although it was a difficult decision to make because there were some real wow factors about it, in the end they had to be practical.

 By the time they checked in to their holiday accommodation it was 3:30pm and they had been on the go since 7:30 in the morning. The children had spent most of this in the back seat of their MPV, and everyone was hot, tired and bored, and to make it worse they then had to unpack the carload of bags that they had brought with them.

 Mike could be found wandering away from the car with another collection of boxes and bags in his hands muttering something under his breath. Claire was in the kitchen unloading the food in between shouting at Dylan for jumping all over the new exciting furniture, and whinging about the absence of any towels provided. All in all it was not a scene of family bliss.

 They then had to go shopping to get the bulk of the food and finally the errands were over. They cooked dinner, and tried to make it up to the kids with a journey to the park but by then the time was past seven o’clock in the evening, and the kids were beyond tired. So, they came home and eventually Mike and Claire were able to talk through their thoughts on the day at 9 o’clock in the evening.

 As they sat outside in the dusky dark they decided that house number two, the Victorian Semi, was number one on their list and without the energy to sort out the next day’s plan, they drew a close to an incredibly hectic day.

The Exodus (Part 1)

The time has finally come to make all of these plans a reality. I have been discussing, and convincing, and pushing, and waiting, and doubting, and dreaming, of this move for so long that now it’s finally come it just feels natural, and no drama at all.

But it is, really.

In order to make this happen, we needed to:

1. Sell the house
2. Get made redundant
3. Find schools on the IOW
4. Initiate Sophie’s statement process early
5. Review and assess the facilities available on the island (and neighbouring mainland)
6. Keep in constant contact with the schools, as we could not follow the usual application process
7. Apply for schools in the North, just in case
8. Begin plans on how we are exactly going to make money when we get there
9. Find a house to rent on the island
10. Lots more little things

So, it has been kind of a big deal. The hardest part though is always getting your head round it at the beginning, once you’ve done that the rest just falls into place.

Up until now, pretty much everyone I have told has looked at me sceptically. They either doubt that I will actually do it (because that is what most people do), or they doubt that our plans of making money are based on any sense of reality, or that we left it so late that it would be impossible to achieve. Aside from a couple of fellow dreamers, we have been lone voices in this adventure, trying to convince people that we are in fact not mental, but inspired, visionaries instead.

Negative comments that we have heard, are; “You’re going to be stir crazy on that island without the nightlife”, “You’re going to miss your friends”, “You’ll need to get a job when you get there”, “It’s not going to be a holiday”, “People can’t do that in real life”, “Good Luck (said patronisingly), “Money?”, “Loneliness?”, “Money?”, “Loneliness?”, “Money?”, “Loneliness?”, “You’re Crackers!!!!”

Enough of that though because if you listen to that all of the time then you’ll never do anything brave, or different. What’s the alternative to be? Wind the clock on thirty years, we’re in a place that we’ve ended up rather than chose, in jobs that were just a means to an end once upon a time that we ended up too scared to leave, with good friends around us that we will have known for fifty years with the same conversations and the same way of doing things. Just typing that down scares me more than anything else I’ve ever heard. I can’t imagine anything worse than not progressing, not changing who you are, not being free to recreate yourself and grow a new skin. That excites me a lot, especially when I think of all of that opportunity out there.

After the journey so far, and in spite of some of the comments, we have finally reached the part where we actually travelled there to pick a house that, at least for a short while, will become our new home. Once we have the house we can then confirm the schools, which we have also visited to ensure that they are aware of us.

The next few posts are a dramatisation of the fateful four day adventure in which at the end we managed to tick all of the boxes that needed to be ticked.

You Can Always Get What You Want

Another year older and another year wiser... or so they say. It was my birthday yesterday when I reached the forever young figure of 34.

Now, at this point of the year I like to look back at what I was doing a year ago, to see if things have moved in the right direction, or not. This isn't something that I tend to do too much, as I don't believe that there is ever much to be gained from picking over the remains of what has happened. But, once a year it is useful to calibrate where I am.

A year ago, I was desperately trying to leave my job. I had just been moved from one position on the project to another hopeless role, and I was under a huge amount of stress, working late most nights. There didn't seem to be any end in sight, and I was beginning to consider resigning.

Obviously, in the mean time the project had stalled so much that it actually was able to de-scope half of its remit, by the world around it changing at a quicker pace. This then provided me with the opportunity to get out of dodge. I've now received the redundancy that I craved and engineered over the last two years, and this has really set up our new life.

The house was on the market a year ago, and we were just beginning to consider putting it in the auction. It's funny how things happen for a reason. If we'd sold it last year then we would certainly have had to rent for a year up north, and this would have eaten into the bunce. We also would have been very uncertain about how I was going to leave work, and this would have led to a very bumpy ride.

So, it all turns out right again. Don't you find that it always does.

I'm on a roll at the moment, and the events that I've been working towards have all arrived in the timeframe they needed to.

I have no doubt that this is down to knowing what it is that you want and concentrating on them regularly. I never used to know what I wanted. That was the biggest problem that I ever had. They don't give that advice enough when you're growing up. You're allowed to breeze through qualifications aimlessly hoping that something will turn up. There's too much wasted effort going on.

For years I wanted to be in a band, but I wanted money. For years I wanted money, but I didn't want to be an accountant. I followed the Beige Army who would advise you to get your head down and stay in a good company because they'll look after you.

That good company then started making people redundant that didn't want to go. They started changing peoples pension agreements. They started changing things everywhere. This is their right, this is what they must do to exist in the marketplace. But don't tell me that a good company will look after you.

That may sound bitter and unfair given where I am at the moment after just being looked after, but I don't believe that they would have looked after me if I'd not played the system. You have to play the game to get what you can from these people. If I'd have been honest about my intentions two years ago, then they wouldn't have looked after me then.

It's so important to clarify in your own mind what it is that you want. If you don't know where you're going, how on earth are you going to get there. This is the thing that I've learnt this year more than anything else. It affects all aspects of my life, and has made me happier than I've been for years.

I am now so happy that I'm in a position where I can back myself to achieving what I want to achieve. I'm 34 and I'm retiring. I'm now in control of my own ship, and I know exactly where we're heading.

Location:The Ave,Alderley Edge,United Kingdom

Holes

It feels at the moment like everything is getting very real. The redundancy is sorted now, and I'll be leaving at the end of July. Such a massive focus in my life for the past two years, and now a kind of emptiness before I fill the gap with the next thing.

The survey on the house happened yesterday so we now have to wait for this hurdle to clear out of the way. I guess we'll find out at the beginning of next week about this.

So, now I have to concentrate on what we are moving towards, given that the things that we are moving away from are wrapping up.

We are going down to the Isle of Wight in three weeks time to sort out a rental place to live, and the schools that we are going to enroll the kids in. We already have appointments with the two potential schools for Dylan and Sophie's school, as well. I think we'll end up putting Dylan in Gurnard Primary School, as this will be the area we will live in initially. It's a good school, and it has a swimming pool, which sounds brilliant to me. He'd hate to be out done by Sophie's pool.

We then have to put feelers out to the letting agents in the area, to give us an early indication if any properties are going to come on the market in our time frame. Something will turn up, but I said to Claire the other night that I don't want to live in any old house. The big move would be a big anti-climax if we move in to some hovel. It's got to be semi-decent, at least.

There's a fair bit to think about and arrange over the next month, but the good thing is at work I'm doing next to nothing now. I want to use this time to start writing another book. It's called The Grind, and is going to be a kind of memoir about my eleven years of working in the corporate world. A lot of funny things have happened in my time there and I want to get them down so I don't forget.

Location:Alderley Edge,United Kingdom