Why seasons ruined my life 

Don’t get me wrong here. Seasons are probably the best thing I’ve ever done. I met people I never would have met in my normal life. I made lifelong friends. I met the guy that I’m planning on spending the rest of my life with. (Cute eh!)

How can anyone not love this?

However for all their good points, seasons have a dark side. Eventually, all good things have to end.

After 4 back to back seasons, I decided I’d had enough. I wanted to live out of a wardrobe, not a suitcase. I didn’t want to have sand in my bed all the time. I didn’t want a perpetually burnt nose. And I just wanted some bloody salted butter in my life (can someone just sort this out already!? The UK can’t be the only place to have it!).

A simple dream


So we (he has done six seasons. He’s more mad than me) packed up our suitcase life and came back to the UK. With promises of a comfy bed, a real job with real money, proper clothes and a decent cup of tea, the prospect of coming home was exciting.

What no one tells you, is it’s all a big bloody lie.

The months when you first return home and don’t have a job are pure misery. How many times can you be rejected by companies before you lose the will to live?

With the other half back in Liverpool and a 4 hour journey away, my life consisted of dog walks and Netflix. When I was living in Greece that sounded like the dream. But when it was reality I was bored. Out of my mind, losing the plot, bored.

“Please don’t take me for another walk, I’m exhausted!”

This boredom led to bizarre purchases like new fish (meet Mary and Paul), excessive nail painting, and the dreaded unpacking/reorganising my entire room (every post-seasonaires worst nightmare). Also after 5 years of freedom, I’m back living with my parents. The dream has faded oh so fast.

They are great though right!?

The worst part, is that after 2 years of non-stop travelling, all your friends are not still sitting around waiting for you to return home with stories of fun and sun and skiing and beaches.

The honest truth, is that most of your old friends have moved on and got a real life, and you rarely have much in common with them anymore.

Sure, I may have made lifelong friends on my seasons, but half of them are still out there living the dream, and the other half are in Scotland and Wales. Bloody good lot of use that is.

The first few months back in the UK can be truly miserable. And adjusting to life in the rainy UK is not an easy and smooth transition. Take me back to this commute?

Olives for daiiizzzz

Having said this, it gets easier. As of next week, my commute will be a whole 10 minutes. If that’s not the dream I really don’t know what is…


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