Kerry does Kernow

I have fled the busy streets and accidental killings of the East End of London for the calm serenity of the Cornish countryside. Basically I am in a 1950's static caravan in a place called Constantine with pubs - 0, shops - 0, Shoreditch twats - 0, you can't even get a phone signal to call 999 and even if you did they wouldn't get to you until the following day because they're in their depth of water colour paints and nettle jam straining.  I came here on bonfire night - the scariest night in East London because you can't tell the sound of fireworks from the shootings. I have come to stay with Nail, who fled our nest a month ago to come for solitary shelter to work through his long standing depression and alcoholism without the distraction and expectations of the capital (The nearest off alcohol tender is a post office, a half hour up hill walk through some woods which closes at 5pm). It was at the time we seperated from a beautiful but very thorny relationship of almost three years that I was asked to write a feature The Effect of Alcohol On Relationships for Speak Out magazine, which I will upload once it's been released (or I'm in the shit). 

I can feel the difference in my mood already - I have slowed down. This didn't happen straight away, oh no, I spent the first day (and night) pacing up and down the six square foot lounge area asking Nail repetitive, non matterable (as in, they really don't matter to anyone else, except me) questions -"What time do we go to bed..  Why don't you put everything on this side of the room on that side of the room.. What do I do if I see a ghost.. What time to the sheep outside go to bed.. etc..) and he glazes over like he trained himself to do a long time ago, probably when I woke him up in the middle of the night, on our first ever night, to ask if he was scared of fairground rides and which ones and why and, and.. But here in the countryside I eventually slowed down. And those sheep go to sleep as soon as the sun does. And they are fucking awesome - I went to introduce myself on the first night and they just looked at me, as if to say "It doesn't matter who you are" and I thought "Wow, here's a group of living beings that do not judge me". I told them that I was going to be staying in that  caravan and if they needed anything they should ask. They didn't tell me to sod off and mind my own business. I told them about something I did once that I've never tell another human being and again, they didn't turn away, not even a look of disgust. I even told them a really shit gag from my stand up days. Still they looked up at me, waiting for something else. 

I have decided I want to be a farmer. I have also decided (and this is what I earlier referred to as Multiple Personnel Disorder) that I also want to be a caravan dealer. I know I'm in deferment of my postgrad in Psychology due to, ironically, psychological reasons, but I really do think I'll make a shit hot Don Ammott - and a farmer - alongside my cross dressing Action Man design business - and of course my on-off journalism. Here I am, 35 and still don't know what to do when I grow up. How I envy these people who work 9-5 in HR who do the same thing at the same time with the same people everyday, and don't feel the need to aspire to anything else other than quiz on Tuesdays, late night shopping on Thursdays, mums on Fridays, and his mums on Sundays. 

Meet Hayley the sheep, above.