Yes, it’s the title of an iconic Pink Floyd song; one of my favourites. However, it’s also how I feel, having had an eventful two years that have, in equal measure, shocked, numbed and shaken me up. 

As those who have stuck with me will know, I lost my marvellous Dad to cancer the day after my birthday in 2014. Whilst the writing went from strength to strength for the rest of that year, the dawning of 2015 saw me scaling things back. I found a good job in London and moved into a lovely house share in New Malden in Surrey. It was a strange time – whilst I was infinitely glad that I had made the break from my old life, I was sad at having left my family, friends and everything I knew behind. But then something amazing happened. I made a new friend at the Brixton Heaven’s Basement gig in November 2014. An easy going, funny, affable chap; Chris was there for me whenever I wanted to talk.  We met up a few times for dinner and we became close, messaging every day and finding out more about each others’ lives, nearly fours apart at opposite sides of the country.

In April 2015 we decided that perhaps we should be more than friends and the rest, as they say in a very cliched way, is history. We have had the best year together; going to gigs, going on holiday, generally being big kids and having a laugh. We have even gone through the death of one his beloved cats. Despite misgivings on both sides, I moved in with him in November last year and I have not looked back. He is my soul mate, my rock, my best friend. I look back on the last 13 months with complete awe and feel a massive sense of gratitude that this fabulous man entered my life when he did.

So, where does that leave me now? Well, I have a good job, a whole new family (even though I still desperately miss my own, now I’m even further away from them), but there is still something missing. Each time I examine this feeling, it comes back to the same thing; I miss the reviewing, the interviewing, the feeling of immense pride every time I have a piece published. It didn’t sit well with me that I had paid for the journalism course and not finished it, because that is what everybody expected me to do. I never finish anything – I get bored and move on to something else. But now I’m proving those critics wrong and I’m proving to myself that I can change, that I am good enough to see something through to the end.

Yesterday, I restarted my music journalism course. I am going to send emails out to my old contacts, see if they’re still happy to send opportunities my way. Suddenly, just like that, I feel miles better. I feel as though I’m doing something worthwhile with my life, rather than just watching it slowly roll by in a haze of contentment and lazy inertia.

I have no idea whether I will pass the course. I have absolutely no plan as to a career in journalism; I’m not sure it was ever about that anyway, to be honest. It’s a young persons’ game. But it’s a great hobby to have and if even one person reads my stuff, then I’m happy. I’m happy. Finally, after years of drifting and not knowing where my life was going, I feel happy. Long may it continue.

Thanks for sticking around. The journey is far from over, so maybe you’ll travel with me for a while?