Richard Wright

Okay, tick tock, my last month living in the United Kingdom has begun. My life is a series of countdowns right now. Countdown to the day I finish my current day job (five days, seventeen hours, thirty-five minutes), countdown to the wedding (fifteen days, thirteen hours, four minutes), countdown to getting on that plane (twenty-nine days, thirteen hours, eighteen minutes). It’s exhausting, keeping up.

Mind you, there were a lot more countdowns a month or so ago. They’re vanishing fast.

Today we posted the wedding banns (well, Kirsty did, through insane traffic, on her way to work), which is basically giving the official confirmation to the registrars of the date, time, witnesses, etc. Cutting it a bit fine, to be honest, as tomorrow’s the last day we could legally have done so if we wanted to keep the 17th as the date, but that is how we roll, in da lingo of da yoof. We’re also sorting out the final guest list, as the final yeas and nays come in. Some inevitable disappointments, though all with good reason. I’ll miss my brother and his mob the most, I think, but such is life. Plenty of fine people are still attending though, and I’m starting to really look forward to it.

That said, last night I woke every couple of hours, all night. I think it was anxiety. That almost never happens to me. Natural enough, I suppose. I keep being told that moving house, getting married, and changing your job are the three most stressful things you can put yourself through, and Kirsty and I have timed it all for the same week. Hey ho.

All the more important that I pick up some exercise again, now that Kirsty’s back and our routine is getting back to nearly normal. A four mile run tonight, so that should see me sleep some. Hopefully.

I leave you with the shocking news headline UK teenage girls “worst drunks”, which strikes me as entirely incorrect. Surely, on the available evidence, they’re actually the best drunks?