Well, it all depends on your perspective of life. You need to know what you want to do, and how you want to do it - having not read your post in any kind of meaningful fashion (ie: I skimmed it looking for my name and repeated use of the words 'tities' and 'mustard seed', but was disappointed in the results), you may have addressed this, and for my ignorance, I blame you wholeheartedly.
But you must remember to look out for number one, it's every man for himself, and all's fair in love and war. Because I can sit here and preach to the choir about stepping on the devil's tail, or I can shut my ugly gob and let you get on with whatever it was you were prattling on about. Frankly, I have no idea what you were talking about, but I did see The Beatles in there somewhere. Good band, they were. All you need is love, and give peace a chance. One could argue that they should have continued touring, as it seemed to make themselves 'right' with one another. One could also argue that no-talent assclown Yoko Ono killed The Beatles and, to a more accurate and morbid degree, John Lennon. To which I have to ask, will you be my Yoko Ono?
I don't expect you to say yes immediately - or at all, because that would be scary and mean that you enjoy shrieking into a microphone at varying levels of intensity over disgustingly liberal uses of feedback and backwards guitar fed through a primitive Moog synthesizer. It also means, shockingly, that you want to kill me, and while I may not be the easiest guy to get along with, I do have my positive sides - I look good when in profile, and I make your scrambled eggs with a delicious combination of salt, pepper, and paprika (I know you love paprika). Plus, I don't play guitar because I know of your sensitive hearing and what a low E chord will do to your bowels (and I've managed to stay by you through THAT, so we can survive through anything). So, if you have any kind of shred of dignity or love in the slightly blackened cavity located where your heart may be, the answer to my question should be a resounding, "What the hell are you talking about?!"
And this is an understandable response. Considering I'm taking your topic well off-track, you have to also realize this is what you expect of me. I'm not predictable in terms of having a set schedule - I wake up at the crack of noon each day and boil an egg, which I promptly throw at that damned squawking parrot you've refused to remove from my breakfast nook (thank you, by the way, for teaching it to scream that I'm a hairy ass with no will to live), then sit in the toilet for a good part of the day, engulfed in what I like to call New York Times hour, which actually lasts about three times that length. I've forgotten what I was going on about.
The point is that you should wear protective headgear no matter where you go - there may be a rogue brick or bastard pigeon just waiting to bonk you on the noggin, and nobody likes head injuries. Just something to keep in mind when you're moving from Australia to Manchester, or Mantoucher as it's affectionately called by no one I know or will ever know, because - hey - that's just weird, if you do decide to move. Because it's all up to you. You already know the answer to your problem - you just have to find the answer within you.
Go now, you're a new man.