'To dig one’s spade into one’s own earth! Has life anything better to offer than this?'- Beverley Nichols

Thesising is about getting one's hands dirty, digging up research, weeding, pruning, growing, seeding, transplanting, potting up, overwatering, overwintering and a lot of prancing about in one's own sandbox. I moved between my thesis work and gardening in the open air which seemed to have a lot in common. 

I dallied with the idea of applying for a real-life job as a consultant writer at a railway 'Firm' as my dear departed mother would have called it. He has a 'post' at a 'Firm' all allusions to fixed stable structures. Well, I think perhaps I will dabble in the spading my own earth bit, first. The point is, that it is an awfully difficult decision to make, while being at the same time a frightfully easy one. Well, first you have to have a friend called Neil. Some years ago when I treated Neil of the glen - who had a fresh air observation on most things - to a treatise on the postcolonial misery of Lankan history that nevertheless produced quirky characters, he stated in utter faith that I would always work on something extraordinary. Now this compass has guided my consideration of whether to be out there, or be sensible and do the most 'serviceable-dress' option of avoiding going to the ball and cindering away at some permanent, full-time, company pension and 25 days of annual leave, scheme. I think I am a wee bit too late for that. 

I felt for the historians who penned a very polite and regretful note saying I had been long-listed. I had apparently not demonstrated how my skills and experience translated into special expertise on the subject of the trust. All they needed was a 50 page synthesis on the work of the Trust, contextualised against the developments of post-war Britain. I resisted the desire to pen an equally polite yet caustic note that when the leading EU think tank asked me to produce a similar work in 2002, they had not asked me to demonstrate specific knowledge of the Baltic countries' immigration regime, which I proceeded then to synthesis and report on. Sigh, I do despair!

You smirk and say, but how, sweet-pea, are you gonna deal with that murderous council tax of £297, utilities named after sea mollusks and the number of subscriptions unnoticed which need to be watered every month. Oh and the annual payments of insurance. Ha! Yes. I have never called up Homeserve more than once in the past few years, but, hey, there you go. It's another Thing to pay. If you have a way out of getting into the 'purpose-built j.o.b' option and the freedom to take the high road, do!Whatever it is that you felt you were driven to do, destined to do, fitting to your human construct, take that professional leap of faith. There is plenty of time to drop it and turn back to do some minor serviceable dress if it doesn't work out. There is a part-time permanent job in an archive called Visitor Experience Support Assistant. A euphemism for complaints person. I live in hope as they said this job is more for veterans. Well I am a veteran of life's travails and they had forgotten that bit of needing to be fleet of foot and carrying up to ten kilos if required. I do not despair! 

Well the road is there, and post-thesis, stride out, best foot forward! Life has little better to offer than this. And if you are considering doing it, you are already one of Life's precious few. Dig your spade in and get to work! 

Note: Since, the Council has graciously granted a student-saver benefit on account of a daughter being away at university, revising the monthly payment to around £150. Phew!