End of the road (maybe)

A prescient man, and presumably one time stagiaire, once said all good things must come to an end. Well, my journey aboard the EU train-eeship has reached its destination, although that’s not to say I plan to get off just yet. Unfortunately, due to the fact that EU political life closes down in August, there is nobody to try and buy my metaphorical ticket from yet, and so bide my time I must. It is also unfortunate that I am not overly familiar with the demographics of the readership of this blog, assuming I am even able to use the plural, but if there are any inhabitants of the 21-30 age range then I can give my highly unrevered stamp of approval to this experience. To be quite frank, if only someone told me before what I know now, but alas I am not and will not be the last person to make this exclamation with my arms held aloft, tears falling down. What they should start doing is getting schools to institute alumni programmes, where alumnus aren’t necessarily ask to contribute anything other than their time and thoughts to the next generation. Littleover Community School, if you are reading this, it would have helped, but at least there’s always tomorrow. But little Louis, my unnaturally tall friend, if you are reading this then just remember that there’s nowhere you can’t go, once you decide where it is.
So, to the question I continually try and put off, what next? Most likely, a little R and R, plus a wait-and-see approach combined with application overload. Maybe even making use of a free ticket to join thirty thousand loyal fans see the Rams hammer Doncaster right back into the lower leagues. What I can’t seem to avoid are reminders of City life, with days-in-the-life-of-traders on Radio 4, friends calling me up to tell me they are starting to dabble in the stock market and generally people having kids and just getting more settled than me. Given the fact that half of my old desk have either been made fired or made redundant because of a merger with another bank, I’m unlikely to be able to retravel that same road even if I wanted to. So onwards we march, like some soldier climbing out of his trench, wandering through no-man’s land, but with a welcome sign just right around the corner, if he can just get the dust out of his eyes to see it.