But I wouldn't say we've arrived yet. The beginning was exciting, fresh, buzzing. I had my last day at work on 13 June, said my good-byes and off we went, a long summer ahead of us, 2 weeks holidays in Hungary included, a new flat to renovate and make our own, many glasses of Berliner Pils to drink and lazy evenings in the late summer sun. All behind us now; autumn has drawn in quick this year, daylight is made up of shades of pale for morning and afternoon and the nights are chilly. We're stalling D's job search with weeks of language school. I constantly worry about him being unhappy, having second thoughts, etc etc, the stuff women worry about. I have not written more than 3 poems since we moved here. My writing parlour is untouched, not even once have I sat there. It's funny how routine becomes you, no matter where you are in the world. You eventually have to get up in the morning, get dressed, brush your teeth, have a cup of tea, go catch the train, walk the same way to work, do the same stuff until lunchbreak, then do some more of it, catch the same train home, try and live until you cannot keep your eyes open any longer. And all that so you can pay your bills and insurances, buy food and get a little compensation for whatever it is your lacking in treating yourself to new clothes, a book, a movie. No matter where I go, I will always worry. About sickness, shortage of money, about making mistakes at work, about not spending enough time with my family, about watching too much crap on TV, about not eating healthy and drinking too much, about writing too little. Hey, this blog is a start though, innit? I am happy to be back in Berlin, but I miss England. I try and conjur up the desperate times and rainy days, the smelly trains and crowded waiting rooms, the boring Sundays. Nevertheless, I miss every bit of it. Most of all, I miss the English and the "Cutting Edge" series on Five.