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I knew it would be different; not running a pub. I was warned that a "mourning" period would be something more powerful than I'd expect. But not me of course, I'm a tough person me - I'd be happy to be free of the intolerable imposition on my freedom; the inability to have any sort of life that didn't breathe "pub, pub, pub, don't forget about the pub" as a tiresome whisper of guilt in my shell like if I dared to step away for a few hours.

And here I am, just over a month after we sold the millstone that was our home, our lively hood and our entire existence. We have a nice house in a pleasant neighbourhood with friendly people. Work progresses slowly on improvements to the brewery, marketing, branding and planning for the future. Still, I seem somewhat empty and disjointed, like there is something missing, an important part of my life disrupted to distraction.

I am certain that this is a transitory situation, like my infrequent blog posting. It's certainly not that I am bored, I've got plenty to do, like beer to brew for a start. The lawn is getting to the point of needing to be cut and many of the windows in the house still need curtains, lamps need shades and there are shelves to put up; both at home and at the brewery.

What does this really mean? Am I only born to be a pub Landlord? I don't think so. Despite not feeling quite right, I do, already feel healthier. Eating at normal meal times, for instance, improves one's digestive regularity and consistency in a way that I will refrain from describing.

I have been told by city dwellers that moving to the country takes considerable re-adjustment due to the unnerving silence at night, for instance. More tangible benefits of the rural countryside, like fresh air very often failing to make up for the lack of cultural stimulus and greater retail choice.

It seems I'm suffering from the same readjustment problems. Going from a full on, life engulfing situation to one where I have more choice about the hour by hour activities is causing disconcerting side effects that are hard to describe. Couple this with the fact that we are still living out of boxes and there is no real comfortable place for me to sit down and write. Perhaps this is the biggest problem; I miss writing and I need a desk.