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| Journal - |
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| Today I make the first steps of a long journey into the unknown. Sounds a bit dramatic maybe, but frankly, that’s how it is. It feels strange to have finally made this day, after so long in the planning. Excitement is never far away, though these last few weeks have been nothing but stress. I brought it upon myself – choosing to travel and emigrate at the same time introduced a generous amount of chaos to an already complicated process. |
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| Needless to say, this signals the end of a twelve-year career. Time to hang up the boots, so to speak. I’m reflective, ready for change but more than a little apprehensive about what those changes may bring. My job has been such a way of life for me, shaping everything I do, the people I hang out with, even the clothes I wear, and given me my sense of purpose – which surely we all need. So that’s why this first journal entry has little to do with travel, but everything to do with the journey.
New arrivals to the Wander Years may wish to read about me and gamekeeping, to find out what on earth caused me to arrive at this point. |
| Lately, when going about my business at work, I’ve started to notice things that I have always taken for granted. I guess that won’t surprise you, probably most people do the same when they are about to leave somewhere. The unique English countryside with it’s changing moods, stone walls enclosing ancient fields where countless hands have toiled before. Old farm buildings where many generations have raised families and farmed the land, Oak trees that have seen so much before us. These things have been around me all this time, yet I only just noticed them. They go some way in explanation as to what is so unique about this green and pleasant land; history, by the lorry load. For despite our one party state, with it’s war mongering government that seeks to end my way of life (discuss), extortionate fuel prices, crazy weather and Bill Oddie – there still is something attractive about living in the United Kingdom. People with a far better grasp of the English language struggle to put it into words, but whatever it is, I will miss it. |
| The final four days of the shooting season was a hectic and emotional affair for me, and will stay in my memory for some time. This was all finally finished off with the traditional beaters day - a shoot day laid on for all the great people who help us gamekeepers do our job all year. The party afterwards went on into the wee hours, with all too much drinking and singing - the latter being a talent few of us actually possess. I had hoped to bring you a photo of everyone involved, perhaps with a suitably beautiful building or landscape in the background. But despite carrying my camera all day long, I failed on this count miserably! |
| So where have I been hiding all winter? Well, of course I have been working hard and saving my money. The shooting season has been a difficult one, but we got through it surprisingly well. My social life has been somewhere on the same level as the Pope, my love life somewhat worse. Worldly possessions have been packed into a mere fourteen boxes and put to sea, possibly never to be seen again, and new homes have been found for dogs and ferrets. I tried to ship the dogs, but not a single shipping company has dog shaped boxes. As with the last time, saying goodbye to them was a low-point in my week. They’ve been hard working companions and I’ll miss them too. |
| I’ll be spending the next few weeks moving around various safe houses in Shropshire, while I catch up with friends and get used to life living from a backpack again. It always takes a while. At this point, I’ll see just how good my planning has been when deciding what to ship and what not.
From here, a straightforward dash for Guernsey in the Channel Islands. There for an estimated two or three months, I’ll be working just enough to pay for the high living I’m planning on, full of wine, women & song. Any time left over will be put to good use learning to sail, planning the trip and honing the fine art of drinking vodka in readiness for Russia. Oh, and I’ll also be making a real effort to circumnavigate each and every island either on foot or bicycle and bring you some reports from these interesting little rocks I used to call home. I’ve been wrestling with the finer points of New Zealand immigration lately, and sincerely wish I paid more attention at school now. Expect to hear plenty more about that over the coming months; it is, after all, central to this whole adventure. But I leave you for now with an interesting extract from the NZ immigration service guide NZ1002 “Guide to Applying for Residence” – A man may not marry his: Grandmother, Grandfather’s wife, Wife’s grandmother, Father’s sister, Mother’s sister, Mother , Stepmother, Wife’s mother, Daughter, Wife’s daughter, Son’s wife, Sister , Son’s daughter, Daughter’s daughter, Son’s son’s wife, Daughter’s son’s wife, Wife’s son’s daughter, Wife’s daughter’s daughter , Brother’s daughter, Sister’s daughter . Now, notwithstanding the fact that these would be considered good wholesome relationships in much of rural Shropshire, it’s a reasonable list. But wait; did you notice what’s missing? Am I alone in wondering why there is not a single mention of any member of the sheep family on here? This to me begs the question, what kind of damn country am I moving to? |
| March 1st, 2005 > the journey begins |
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| some of the survivors on beaters night |
| packing up |
| Goodbye Harvey! |
| During the process of packing up my belongings for shipping, I have made two important discoveries. The first, is that when ordering custom made export boxes, imperial and metric measurements really don’t work well together. Second, is that brown packing tape really does stick to everything - it has a life of it’s own. And did you ever wonder where tea towels come from? I have enough to open my very own tea towel shop, if such shops exist; yet I have never bought one in my entire life. |