I love London. I always have done, since I was a little kid. I get
this little surge, an excited, contented psyched-up peacefulness, as
soon as I get inside the M25. The grubby bits, the shiny bits, the
tubes and the traffic – it all feels so familiar, so right. Working
there is in many ways, a dream come true (though I always thought it
would be in a very different capacity, but that’s a different story)
Yet, I’ve lived in Sheffield now for more than twelve years. It’s more
than my legal residence, it’s Home. And leaving my wife and four
gorgeous children behind every week is like an undeserved punishment
for some uncommitted crime.
The job is amazing, I enjoy the business of travel so much, and we’re
saving for our family’s future, undoing years of mistakes and failures
in months of deferred gratification.
It hurts, but I love it.