The world from my window

We're on the M5 when we pass a bus chuntering cheerfully along on the inside lane. It bears the livery of Gibbons Coach Holidays . As we drive by, I peer as best I can into the windows, hoping to spot a posse of long-limbed monkeys swinging down from the luggage rack, and swiftly mooning in unison from the back window. In my head I can hear the lar gibbons that used to sing and whoop, whoop, whoop across the courtyard and valley at Cricket St Thomas in the good old days when it was a wildlife park. But we overtake before my imagination overtakes me. The next coach is Hatton Premier Class Travel and I envisage sedate, upmarket passengers, all wearing tiaras and monocles. At the airport, I'm flabbergasted not to be searched, as, usually, I set off every alarm going. My laptop takes an age to come through security and I have a minor panic attack fearing that all my writing and photos have been wiped from the hard drive during the scanning process. We weave our way t...

The thing about so-called 'portfolio careers' is that, sometimes, an important document - which you've worked hard to produce - falls out of your metaphorical ring binder. That's just happened to me - by choice - but it's still pretty strange not to be doing that particular job, which is one I've actually enjoyed very much. Still, times change and we move with them, or risk being left behind. So I hand in my keys and laptop and literally (yes, really literally) feel a weight lift from my shoulders, which is probably because I am always carrying said laptop in a tote bag over my right arm. At last, my posture comes back. I can walk again. Onwards and upwards. I go into WH Smith and get myself an academic diary (which runs from July 2017 to the end of August 2018) so I can turn over a new leaf. I want to start on a fresh page. I shop in Waitrose for what probably will be the last time for a while and restrict myself to buying biodegradable dog poo b...