HELLO, IT'S ME.

If you didn't sing that title like Adele, then this isn't going to work out.

But hi, I'm Storm, the other half of the Devon/Dubai duo. The left boob, if you will.

As Ria so eloquently explained, I’m running off to Devon to work with horse sperm. Except, that’s not actually what I’m doing – I’ll be doing media and marketing for a stud farm (where horses are bred) and stallion agency just to the north of Dartmoor, and I start in January.

It will be a big change for me, to be part of small company on the rise, rather than a tiny fish in a global industry in decline (RIP print media). 

I’ll still be doing lots of things I love, like designing, photography and video, while also living up to my nickname at my current job of ‘Tech Support’, as I endeavour to fix those random kind of problems you never see coming, which is one of my weird talents. Mainly because I know how to Google.

Deciding to leave London and move to the wild, wild West Country is not something I saw coming. To quote John Green, and further steal the idea from Hemingway, it happened slowly, and then all at once.

I’d been thinking about leaving my current job for a while, but I wasn’t really looking. Then this opportunity came up and I accepted it almost immediately; the only question I asked was “Can I have a dog?”. (Yes, is the answer: watch this space.)

I’ve been in London three years, and as a bit of a country bumpkin, it’s taken me a while to find my groove. I’ve now found a great flat, great housemates, and great friends, so obviously I’ve decided it’s time to pack up and leave again.

Ria and I have always been opposites; growing up, she was always perfectly coiffed and styled (and still is), while I was more likely to be found with mud on my nose and smelling strongly of Eau de Cheval. But, I like to think she’s rubbed off on me; I still love getting dressed up – I just normally have to borrow something from her to do it!

I’ve got a bit longer than her to prepare, so my struggles right now are a) finding a short-term flatmate to fill a space in my flat for two months, and b) cramming everything you’re supposed to do in London before you die into the next eight weeks.

Big Ben, I’m coming for you.

xoxo