According to a quick wiki, very little of note has ever happened at Doncaster train station. There was a tragic derailment in the 1950’s that resulted in 14 passenger deaths; and a starring role in an episode of Whatever Happened To The Likely Lads in the 1970’s, but that’s it. An unexciting, red brick building sitting stoically in its place, amid more modern neighbours. The platforms are flanked by windowless, industrial looking buildings which do their best to block the grey, northern sunlight from making its way into a waiting room possessed of all the dystopian charm of a prison visitation hall. Fitting then somehow that this totem pole of ennui should act as a beacon for my own sadness. Twice in recent months, upon receiving bad news I have found myself here, which seems strange when you consider that I live 78 miles from it and had not previously had the pleasure of its acquaintance.
I had the odds of being Doncaster bound stacked in my favour; although my job was home-based, the company offices were located there; and my girlfriend, who was normally Brussels based had taken a 6 month placement in Bradford as part of her masters. It makes sense, therefore, that the taxi booked to take me from my surprise sacking, and the train I booked to take me from my surprise dumping should coalesce at this dreary mascot for northern discontent, although the two events occurred several months apart.
I started building this blog a few weeks ago, but it seems fitting that this story should form its first substantive content. It sums up my current situation in a rather succinct package. I’ve just turned 30, I have left the lucrative world of “sales repping” well and truly behind (even if the decision to do so was not eventually my own), and I have decided to take the first steps towards being genuinely happy in both my work and home lives. That’s how the optimist in me wants to put it anyway, to an outsider I’m a 30 year old, single minimum wage worker, who lives with his parents. But I won’t dwell on that as I have no interest in publishing maudlin, self pitying or onanistic rubbish. The internet is, quite frankly, replete with such content already.
The plan is to complete a masters in journalism starting in September 2016 (the application for which will feature content from this blog) and then hopefully find a job where I am paid to tell stories, rather than convince people to part with hard earned cash in return for products they scarcely need. In the meantime I’ll be updating this blog with pieces of writing about basically anything I find interesting, and more diary based content about my experience of changing career, something that seems increasingly commonplace among my peers. If anyone reads and enjoys anything they find, that would be a bonus.