Today is the first time I'm going to London (as opposed to IKEAland ) since I moved here 10 days ago. I'd have thought by now I'd be longing to visit the metropolis where I've spent most of my adult life. Should be pining to get there, surely?
Not so. In fact I'm rather hoping that when I've made the five minute walk to the station I'll find the predicted bad weather (already rain here, but only half-howling wind) will have already disrupted the trains enough for it to be impossible to make my appointment in time.
I'm going up to see my shrink, but it's not therapy resistance that is making me reluctant to go - just there's so much to do here, settling into my flat.
Does anyone know a psycho-analyst that does her work with home visits?
Mind you, at the moment there seems to be nothing wrong with me that an unlimited supply of handypeople, plumbers, electricians, carpenters and semi-skilled slave labour couldn't put right
