Dubai Endings in All Good Things

I've quit my job. Finally and completely. It happened on Wednesday, and Thursday was my last ever day. It's over. I'm free.

Afterwards I went out to celebrate with four good friends who happened to be in Dubai at the time. Sitting at a rooftop bar on Thursday night, the lights of Dubai flickering around us, I laughed and talked and enjoyed myself. So much. It was the perfect ending to 12 years of a career.

And now I'm home in an England where all the leaves have suddenly burst out upon the trees, heading for Newcastle in a couple of hours and another group of friends I've missed so much, with nothing but time ahead of me to heal and recover and ... live.

Will and I are thinking very seriously about spending six months in New Zealand on my dad's farm after our lease expires in September and he has the final exhibition of his art course. My dad is thrilled at the thought, already making lists of all he wants Will to help him with on the farm and debating which room we can turn into Will's art studio. Those two get on so amazingly well. I never expected that. I'm so glad my dad was able to come here last month so they could meet at last and discover this.

I think six months over the southern summer on the farm would be very good for both of us. Will needs to get away from London and his unhealthy lifestyle here and the job he hates that takes all his time away from art. On the farm he'll be able to work hard physically outdoors, which he loves, get his fitness and strength back (which is what he's had to sacrifice in order to maximise his art time out of the little free time he has), and spend hours every day painting as well. And I always love it there. I'll have my beloved cat, sunshine and green grass, physical labour that I enjoy and plenty of time to dream and write and figure out what I want to do next.

I'm very grateful for my dad's support right now. I've finally run out of money (will get enough for another month from last week's job, but that's it), and all he did was ask for my bank account details and say he'll put a few thousand in there later this week for me. Money's always been an issue between my dad and me (long, complicated story involving divorced parents and unpaid maintenance and vicious fighting), and I loathe asking him for it or accepting it from him. That's why it's taken me an entire year after his offer for me to get to a position where I can take it without feeling like I'm compromising my soul. It's still hard for me, but he seems to very badly want to do this - perhaps it's his own way of wanting to make up for the past.

I don't know what's going to happen. In two hours I'm heading for Newcastle and that's all I'm thinking about right now. The horrors of last week in Dubai are over forever and all I have to do this week is everything I want most to do, so life is pretty perfect, all things considered.

And the sun is shining and the leaves are dancing on the trees and England is so glorious at this time of year.

I have been officially British for a year, next week. Wow. I love being British so much. So much more than I ever expected. It makes me so happy.