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It doesn’t seem possible that it is six-and-a-half years since I was writing about moving job and wondering what was going to happen, but here we are again.  My work is done and Scotland is, I hope, a safer place for it.

And so tomorrow morning I will get up, put on a new shirt and a brave smile, and head off to a new posting once again. Having saved the people I have been head-hunted (kind of) to save the fish.

What, you may ask, do I know about saving fish? Well, not much to be honest, but then I didn’t know much about guns, football hooliganism or pirates a few years back. I learned there and I will learn here too.

That is a good thing but it doesn’t stop the feeling of apprehension/inadequacy/panic which is currently attending my waking moments. Even at the ripe old age of 49 and some, one can get that “first day at a new school” feeling. Will I have a clue? Will the people be nice? Will I like the work?

The answers to those questions are, of course, no-then-yes; no-and-yes; and probably.

And with luck, this is the last time I have to go through this because, barring incidents or accidents (or hints or allegations), this is probably going to be my last job before I retire.

Now THAT is a scary thought.



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