My seventh own home

When my two years were up on the assignment in Utrecht, my boss called me and pleaded "please, hear me out before you say no". He knew I wasn't fond of the north.

But he managed to persuade me by promoting me, giving me my own country. Well, that's stretching it a bit, but humour me.

This was and is a very expensive country, and I was on a local contract, which meant I had to pay for accommodation myself. Ouch.

So got a second-hand apartment, albeit in a good area of Oslo, but cost at least half an arm and part of a leg, for a really shitty place. It was furnished with left-over cheapo stuff. That's when I bought one of the very comfortable armchairs I still have, so I at least could sit somewhere in the flat.

And it was one of these old places that no matter how much you cleaned, it still looked dirty. Yikes.

I sorted out their finance business, trained the assistent I inherited, so that she could take over (fab job done there E!) and I could move on. Not a day too early if you ask me.

Too cold, too boring, too friggin expensive. Saying me, who ended up in Zürich which lately was chosen the most expensive city in the world.

Life works in mysterious ways.