We’re going in two weeks. Round the world. For an indeterminant length of time. I’m just staring at those words, letting them sink in. Right now that makes me feel slightly sick.
Something we’ve discovered over the past two years… It’s a whole different kettle of fish deciding to go travelling when you’re thirty than when you’re twenty.
It’s never going to be easy to tell work we’re leaving – giving only the official month’s notice seems unfair as we both have a boss who treats us well, but if the house sale falls through and we’ve told them in advance, we’ll be working for people who know we will leave as soon as the next buyer comes along. Decisions, decisions…
When Blakey said he wanted to do some REAL travelling, suggested jacking in our jobs and leaving for a year, it was music to my ears. It’s official! We’re going travelling!
…Now where the hell do we start?