Done diddly done

The counter down to the right of the page is now reading 2 hours left until blast-off.

Blast-off being the final walk down Pentonville Road to King's Cross St Pancras and down under the streets of London for the commute home. It is done. How can nine months of employment feel like an eternity? But it is done. I just want to say it a few more times until it sinks in - done, finished, completed, all over, never again will I be back in Myddelton House, unless some twist of fate deems it so in the future. But not the foreseeable future (my powers of clairvoyance only extend 18 months ahead).

My sister arrived on Monday afternoon while I was in Edinburgh for the final seminar and the Socceroos were being cruelly robbed of a deserved place in the next round of the World Cup. On Wednesday night, the occupants of the house (all nine of us plus Farah) all ventured out in Covent Garden for a night on the turps. With a massive day of work waiting for me the next day I quietly resolved to take it easy and get home at a decent hour. I realised that things weren't going according to plan when I fell off the table I had been dancing on in high heels.

The next day was not what I had planned, after toppling over in the shower and gashing my back and struggled into work and sat there, still drunk for most of the day, doing 15 minutes of stabbing the keyboard with shaking index fingers before finally staggering home again at 5pm to pack my backpack (I have learnt that hungover packing is always the most effective and efficient).

So today I was supposed to, again, achieve the impossible and write an options appraisal that would bring a tear to the eye of even the most hard hearted critics. Alas, my brain is burnt to a cinder, my limbs are weary, I am tired. Tired working, tired of worrying about work and the time! Oh how soon it will be when I don't look at a clock and 5pm will sound trumpets in my soul, while 9am will draw daggers into it - to be free of the clock will be a joy. Alarm clocks will be a thing of the past.

So tonight. Tonight is the night that you've all been waiting for - the big one. The Grand Finale at the Walkabout. Tradition has decided on the venue, the Walkabout was my crutch over winter - the excitement of never knowing what was going to happen even when the same thing happens every weekend - always being surprised and delighted when Living on a Prayer sounds and the crowd roars with a approval - the moment we're all here for. Hands in the air screaming the words in unison. No doubt tonight will be the same as every other time - sensational.

Will this be the last post from the UK? Perhaps, or maybe I will feel the need to write another little summary about another aspect of my tenure here. Almost certainly.

Me voy.