I’m moving to Dubai, oh my god.

A year ago I thought I was adamant to move, I almost forced it to happen, but it didn’t. So I continued with my London lifestyle and lived it to the full.

This time it just happened so naturally, it feels so right and I’m so ready that I know it’s meant to be. I have a friendship group out there ready and waiting and I’m not backwards in making contacts, so I’m really looking forward to the next chapter. Before you wonder, I’m not going there for Dubai guy. I didn’t even tell him because I’m going there for myself, new experiences, a job I love, and of course the tax free salary, and I want to do it without a relationship in tow. Plus I’m a lesbian now 💁🏻


My rocks when shit hit the fan


wedding selfie

But this transition has made me think about those I’m leaving behind.
A couple of years ago I was in a different place, and I wanted to let my friends from home (Exmouth) know that I will never forget the initial support I got from them when my confidence was shattered. I had daily inspirational positive quotes from one, anecdotes and stories from similar experiences in their lives from the others, constant support when I needed it. You can’t forget things like that, and that’s what friends are for.

Once I moved more central I decided I needed to live the life my 70 year old self would be proud of. I want to tell my grandkids what a great life I led in my twenties, to inspire my future generations (assuming I have sprogs).

Hammering in my good times to home friends got tiresome for them, which at the time I took great offence to. I thought they should be visiting me in London to go out partying, be happy that I was living the dream. But it took me a little while to realise my lifestyle wasn’t relatable to those back home, and I accepted it.



But even though our lives are so different, they’re the ones who I grew up with, shared the same teachers, shared our first underage drinking experiences ‘down the maer’ ,wrote eachother notes during class, used disposable cameras, wore Bench jackets and Pete’s Place flares thinking we were at the height of fashion, and all got our bellybuttons pierced at the same time. Home friends are what give you your grounding in life, without them I wouldn’t be where I am and I’m truly grateful to have them in my life, even if we don’t speak as much as we used to.

When you move cities, you make friends quickly and the likelihood is you’ll see them a few times a week, so your friendship gets strong really quickly. It’s in these instances where it’s not about the length of time you’ve known someone, but the quality of friendship you have. I made the best friends at uni and we always have a twice-yearly meet up, one holiday and another night out in one of our home towns or somewhere random, which I know will never stop. We are committed friends.


My uni babes


The threesome

And then there are my London friends. No they didn’t know me when I was in school uniform, nor have I cried on them because I had an argument with my mum and she was ‘so unfair’, but they’ve known me at full maturity and been there for my ‘adult’ situations. These are the ones I’ve been to festivals with, Michelin starred restaurants with, shopped with without worrying about the bank balance, been on holiday with and hands down had the best times of my life with.

I am looking forward to making new friends in a new country and I’m so lucky to already have great ones there, but I won’t lie, it’s a scary thought leaving some behind. It’s times like this when you identify who your real friends are. I have been overwhelmed with messages of support with my move, honestly I didn’t think it would make that much of an impact, but the level of friendship I have is what I can only call priceless.

So I’m expecting my weekends to be filled with visitors, and I already know of three of you wanting to follow suit and join me in Doobs, which I hope happens!!

I’ll miss you all…

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