Last night we lay in the warm dark, giggly and wide-awake and overrun with cats. I asked for a bedtime story, and Ash took me on a virtual tour of our house. The dream house. The stone and oak barn, with a pebble driveway and a small orchard of fruit trees where the hives are, surrounded by farmland and stars. With the boot & bee-gear room, hand-crafted kitchen made of recycled timber and tiles (and obsessively organised pantry), double-height glass windows along the entire ground floor lead to squishy sofas in front of the wood-burner. This house.
In order to create this, we need to be prepared for six months of building, and anywhere up to a year to fill in all the forms and do the council planning permission voo-doo. That’s once we find and buy some land which could take months. And in order to do any of this we need dosh, moula, bread, coin, spondoolies, wonga: folding stuff. And I need a job.
Yesterday, with the help of lovely cheer-leading tweetage and some bright orange tights (worn discretely under a rather demure long wool skirt), I second interviewed for a really awesome project that will contribute to the sum total of human endeavour.
And I got it!
In 10 days time I will be working with the Smartest People in the World (seriously, my boss has a Nobel Prize. I KNOW) to help create an amazing medical research facility in London.
So this is the first step to the barn and the place. We are doing it.
I am feeling incredibly blessed and grateful today.