back in april, when the metropolitan weather office was optimistically forecasting a “hot and dry” summer season ahead, i sniggered. in may, when they began warning of a genuine heatwave and recommending people paint their houses white, i laughed. i nearly bust a gut laughing – that info practically became the punchline to the running joke that is british summer. it may take me a while to catch on, but after 6 years here, i’ve finally come to understand its cruel annual tease.

still, in spite of my cynicism, some part of me was kind of hoping it would prove true. sadly, this morning’s news was an all too familiar refrain: august will be wet and cold. as per fucking usual.

so, unsurprisingly, no sun outdoors. luckily, i’ve got my own supply in…

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it’s getting late, and i’m starting to get anxious.  check the clock – 10:00 pm.  too early? the ache in my shoulders and neck tells me it’s not.  my eyelids are beginning to burn with the desire to close.  my ritual ablutions – contact lenses, wash face, brush teeth.  dim the lights and slip between the cool, heavy sheets, head sinking deeply into the pillow.  ahhhh.  i hear street noise outside, and feel a knot starting to form in my stomach.  relax, i tell myself – you’ve lived in noisy places for a long time, you can tune it out.  but my mind begins to click and whir – what if i can’t drop off?  jonno’s still awake – what if he awakens me when he comes to bed? what if i’m awake all night? what if i can’t function tomorrow? what if i have that sick, laggy feeling and can’t be on point for my important meeting? it’s okay, it’s okay – if i can’t fall asleep by 1:00, i’ll take an antihistamine.  concentrate.  relax your toes.  now relax your ankles.  relax your calves.  relax your knees.  relax your knees.  relax your knees.  shit, this isn’t working. *it isn’t working*.  okay, okay, listen to your meditation podcast.  damnit, jonno’s climbing in bed now. why does he always come to bed just as i’m falling asleep?!  don’t worry – just curl up next to him.  listen to his breathing.  slow, deep, steady.  try to breathe in rhythm with his breath.  wow, how can he fall asleep just like that?  the streetlight’s too bright through the window – flip over.  try your eyeshade and earplugs.  whatever you do, don’t look at the clock.  fuck, it’s 1:00.  should i get up and take an antihistamine?  i hate taking it, though, i’m so muzzy-headed the next day.  give it another few minutes.  but all i can hear with these earplugs in is my own hyperaudible pulse and breath.  take them out, it’s quiet now.  drifting, drfiting.  who’s shouting in the street like that?  what’s going on?  gotta check from the window.  just a couple of drunks.  they’re wandering off now, back in bed.  1:40.  stop looking at the clock, you’ve functioned on no sleep before, and you can do it again if you have to.  checking the clock won’t help you sleep.  unfurrow your forehead.  brain, shut the fuck up please, you are not helping.  empty your head.  jeezus – jonno’s got his restless legs tonight.  fantastic – why do i have to sleep next to mr. twitchy??  how am i supposed to sleep when he keeps kicking me?  maybe i should head into the other bedroom.  but then i’ll have to unplug my alarm clock, bring it into the other room and reset it.  just give it a few minutes, i’ve got to fall asleep soon, i’m soooo tired, i’ll fall asleep soon.  oh dear god, cat, i’m going to murderize you – why are you awake at this hour?! oh wow, it’s 4:00, i must have dozed off.  but that cat won’t shut up.  i’ll put him in the other room.  crap, now he’s scratching at the door.  can’t have that.  ohpleaseohpleaseohplease zeke.  please.  pleasegobacktosleepplease.  oh god, i’m getting all worked up – that’s not conducive to sleep.  i’m just so tired i could cry.  i am crying.  it’s 5 am and i’m crying.  fuck!!!!  why is jonno’s alarm going off?!?!?!  he doesn’t even get up until 7, why does he set it for 5:30!!??!! i’m going to throw that stupid thing out the window, i swear to god, i’ve asked him a million times not to set it for 5:30.  he doesn’t even wake up! i wake up and have to wake him up to turn it off!! okay, quiet, if you just relax you can get another 45 minutes.  great, the cat heard the alarm go off, thinks he’s getting fed now.  maybe if i feed him now, *just this once*, i can get a few more minutes.  oh that will never work, he’ll just wake me up early every morning to get fed.  don’t give in. don’t give in.  also, don’t kill the cat.  also, don’t kill the husband.  god it’s bright in here already.  pillow over head.  tomorrow night will be better, as long as you don’t get all wound up.   you get too anxious.  just rest your eyes, quiet your thoughts.

alarm. 6:15.

shit.

i’m so tired – the beatles

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the reason i’ve been so quiet this week?  i got an iphone.

i know that i’ve prattled on about this to friends already, but this device is the new love of my life.  for someone as addicted to being connected as i am (and i have been a heavy addict since 1994), this is either my salvation or downfall.  probably both.

i’ve already had two people threaten to do bad things to my precious iphone, should i ever whip it out in their presence.  and i can’t say i blame them.  i apologise in advance if i become an iphone twat – one of those people who rudely text/tweet/surf while mid-conversation, or sit in the corner at parties streaming videos, or who only want to talk about the newest apps.  i don’t want to be one of those people.  really, i don’t.

i fear, though, that it may be inevitable.  i am thoroughly entranced.  taking it out gives me a little shiver of thrill every time, while i think to myself, “ah… this is 21st century living.” yesterday alone, i sent a voice message to sing “happy birthday”, read the new york times on the way to work, listened to a live stream of my favourite boston radio station while trying to write a report in my open-plan office, checked facebook and email and my diary between meetings, checked the tube service and played a quick game of pac man on my journey home from work, got a reminder to buy sugar on my way past the shop.  in the past few days, i’ve watched read books on it (jonno appreciates i no longer leave the light on to read at night), tracked my run route via gps, watched a red sox game from bed, and emailed a video of my cat.  it does everything but brush my teeth.

and so my advance apology is only half-hearted, at best.  so far, i am happiest around other friends who are also iphone twats – we’ve been known to sit together in the pub, geekily tap-tap-tapping along simultaneously, oblivious to what others would perceive as the height of rudeness.  and i was never prouder than last night when i could whip out my phone to correctly predict the last tube departure, ensuring we all made it home.

i’m sure the novelty will wear off eventually – but it might be a while.

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so much to say – about iran, about rape in south africa, about the vagaries of life.

but for now, it will have to wait.  i’m off for a 5 day boston blitz holiday with my friend suzanne.  we’re storming boston, cape cod, and martha’s vineyard.  a date at fenway park is in there somewhere too.  the weather forecast is none too promising at the moment, but i’m ignoring that in favour of blind optimism.

til then, ciao ciao!

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as the clock hands stretch past midnight, the house becomes still – just the soft creaking sounds of an old house settling to keep me company.  and as i relax into the darkness, a quiet contentment steals up on me.  after a hard day’s work, i look around to see my books placed on shelves, my photos hung on the wall, furniture that i’ve selected arranged just so.  it’s been so long since i bought anything of solidity, or was able to arrange the few possessions i had.

for the first time in a long time, i feel comfortable.  plain as it is, this home finally reflects something of me – i’ve been so self-contained for the past 6 years, owning not a single extraneous piece of paper, or mote of dust, always paring down to the bare minimum.  but finally i have a space to fill up as i like, and as i sit here revelling in it, the sense of *release* washes over me, catching me off guard, stinging my eyes.

during the luscious hours of sunshine today, i spent some time digging in the dirt.  i’ve been working on rehabilitating the neglected garden, and there was just one task remaining – uprooting a weed that had been so long-entrenched  it had grown into a small tree.  i sweated and pulled and yanked that sucker out, all the way down to the rootball.  it finally came free with a massive heave, leaving a satisfying blank slate for the new plants i’d bought at the garden centre.

i hadn’t wanted this move after all – it was jonno’s idea, jonno’s initiative.  i was loathe to uproot.  but as difficult as all the upheaval has been, i am so grateful for this fresh start.  a blank slate to create a place of my own – and i had no idea just how much i needed it.

jonatha brooke – your house

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this is the before picture:

people who’ve known me for a while will have heard the story of “the day jen decided to start gardening”. shortly after i’d moved back to boston, i found myself unemployed, up early one morning with nothing to do and contemplating my new back yard. having my own back yard was a novelty to me, having just come from 8 years spent in a shoebox of a new york apartment – i finally had an overgrown patch of earth to call my own. and by “overgrown”, i really mean junglefied. it had been sorely neglected for many years; while there was a corner of the yard that had evidence of once being a garden, there were large thickets of bamboo grass, unruly grapevines with an invasive stranglehold, and stands of weeds higher than my head. and so, as i stood there on the back porch with my coffee one unseasonably warm spring morning, surveying my newfound expanse of land and overlooking the overgrowth, i thought i’d start taking out just a few of the biggest weeds. wandering in wearing my pyjamas and slippers, i grabbed hold and started pulling. after a few short minutes, i came across a weed i’d never encountered before – it had tuberous roots, thick as fingers, that went straight down deep into the ground like underground cables. trying to pull only resulted in the roots breaking off beneath the surface, a definite no-no if you want to eradicate weeds. i had no proper gardening implements, but looking around i found a big stick… and started digging to china.

i spent 10 straight hours that day, digging up weeds, lopping back branches, and sifting through soil. i spent the entire day in the blazing sun up to my eyeballs in dirt, and by the time dusk fell, my shoulders were knotted, my face burnt, my pyjamas ruined. but i had transformed that wildly tangled eyesore into a square of beautifully groomed and prepared soil, with nothing but my stick and brute force. it was (and remains) one of the most satisfying things i’ve ever undertaken.

that summer, my garden became my oasis. i planted vegetables, flowers and herbs – i still remember the layout, where the snapdragons and sunflowers were staked along the fence, the thick bumper crops of basil and tomatoes that i gave away to friends and neighbours in brown paper bags, the exuberant orange daylilies that edged the perimeter. on my way home from work in the afternoons, i’d stop off for a six pack of sam adams and a newspaper. let the dog out to roll around on the lawn, set up the armchair in the sun, turn on the radio, and read the paper while nursing my beer and listening to music backed by the soft chug-chug-chug of the sprinkler. i tenderly nurtured those small green shoots, watched with pride as they grew bigger and stronger, and silently mourned as the blooms faded and fell. years after i’d long-since moved from that apartment, i’d find myself wondering if new tenants had kept it up, or even noticed the care and attention i’d invested for so long.

this is my second garden, and while it doesn’t hold a candle to the size of my first, i found myself out in my pyjamas last saturday, hacking away with a small pair of pruners and pulling down giant swathes of creeper. lots more work to do, but it’s a start:

parlour steps – the garden

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so after two long and painful weeks, i am back online.  i also now hate virgin media with the intensity of a thousand suns, but that’s another story.

how’s everything been going in the interim?  well the move has turned into one of the worst-planned-and-executed operations since napoleon’s waterloo.  however we’re now fully here, sans sofa and a few other essential items.  up until a few days ago, the place was chaos – thanks to the determined efforts of j, it is now a slightly more refined chaos. here’s a peek.

the kitchen:

the lounge (and air mattress we’re sitting on in lieu of a couch)

the hideous orange hallway (why??!)

the peculiar toilet/utility room (i *hate* when they do stuff like this, in a effort to appeal to sharers)

the spare bedroom, cute husband (and icky drapes)

the “master” bedroom with soon-to-be-replaced velvet curtains

the bathroom

the decked patio

the in-need-of-overhaul garden

still needs a lot of work and cleaning.

i’m absolutely run down, falling apart at the seams exhausted.  in addition to the move and between-two-apartments limbo, i’ve been working like crazy (late even! and i never stay late!), and running like mad.  i’m now rather worried, as i’m suffering some sort of painful hip muscle strain and pretty sure i’ve got a stress fracture happening in my foot (which i’m ignoring).  only 2 weeks until the marathon, and i’d be devastated if i couldn’t finish it, so i’m stressing – trying to rest *and* maintain my conditioning.  i just feel run into the ground, like a could take a long nap at any given point during the day.

so i’ve been coming home late, running, eating and falling into bed.  then last weekend, a girls weekend in brighton with my heavily pregnant friend tonia…

and j’s birthday on the sunday…

… the sunday which also happened to be mother’s day in the u.s., and which i missed.  guilt.  also, a sad indicator of how reliant i am on those little email pop-up reminders and other internet-based cues, none of which i had access to. also a strong indicator of how very fried i’ve been.  so happy belated to my mum and my two sisters (one of which is due with her second little boy quite soon!) and my stepmom  i’m so sorry i missed telling you what fantastic mothers you’ve been, and how much i love you all.

so that’s what’s been up with me… what’s been up with all of you?

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just to say

a) we’re sort-of kind-of moved, and it was awful

b) in the 21st century it apparently still takes 2 frikken weeks to get internet set up (where are my flying cars?)

c) i’m going through serious connectivity withdrawals (what’s this strange shaking?)

d) i’m really liking our new place and can’t wait to regale you with photos and ikea stories

i miss you my darlings!  til then, big kisses.

***mwah!***

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life is pretty crazy at the moment.  i’m acting up into my boss’s position – which means i’m suddenly managing a whole team with year-end deadlines to meet this week.  we’re moving this weekend – with no boxes, no preparation, and no time to pack.  oh, and in between all that, i’m in the last big weeks of my marathon training, with a 20 mile run scheduled for saturday.

so, the past two weeks i’ve been working late, coming home, going running for an hour or two, trying to pack, then falling into bed.  fun.

it’s madness, and i’m knackered – physically and mentally worn *out*.  in between, i’m feeling stressed, excited and melancholy all at once.

so: if all goes well, you may hear from me on monday.

if not, send out a search party.

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cherry blossoms always remind me of you.

we walked along the common, dusk rising up around us, the deep rose purple bruising the early evening sky, the soft light of gas lamps gentling the darkness.  it had been an unseasonably warm spring day, and as we walked beneath the bower of budding branches that stretched the length of the avenue, a breeze stirred a wild blizzard of petals to shower down, enveloping us, glowing against the dark, the scented confetti adorning our hair, swirling and eddying around our feet.

it was a perfect, enchanted moment, like a scene from a movie, or perhaps a wedding.  we smiled at each other in the twilight, and i nearly reached for your hand.

air – cherry blossom girl

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i must really love my husband, because i really hate flat hunting.  the hours spent sifting through thousands of internet ads, all either slick with deception (a stylish two bedroom cottage house with delightful private rear garden – great location, ideal for a professional couple!) or full of crazy.

like crazy ideas of geography. for the record: streatham is not tooting.  mitcham is not tooting.  stockwell? sorry, not tooting.

or crazy ideas of distance.  being nearly 1.5 miles from the tube station is *not* “moments away”.  nor is it “conveniently located”.

or crazy photos.  is this supposed to make me want to rent your “delightful 2 double bedroom flat in great condition, spacious and modern”?  really??!??

how about this “great size double bedroom”??

and this is supposed to show… “heaps of character”?

this is the only photo of a “2 bedroom garden flat”.  enticing, no?

this estate agent was a particularly talented photographer.  god only knows what these photos are supposed to be featuring.  someone actually waited for these to upload.

and this piece de resistance is a “stunning luxury flat”

i don’t know about you, but i’m sure stunned.

so there’s the deception and the crazy, but also the disappointment.  asking to view a particular advertised flat, but the estate agent taking you to see one you’ll “like better”… at £200 over your max budget.  getting excited about one place that ticks all the boxes and thinking you’ve secured it, only to find out there was a miscommunication and another couple had already put down a deposit.  taking a sunday afternoon off to see a place that looks lovely in the photos, but cheerless, dingy and dark in real life.

i know we’ll find a place eventually.  but it’s just such a thoroughly depressing cycle of expectation and disillusionment.  this is why i hate flat hunting.

i swear – we are never moving again.

ben kweller – my apartment

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i never really “got” april fool’s day.  it always struck me as one of those things that’s only funny if you’re 10 years old or younger – and most times, not even then.  i’m not a natural joker, and have a hard time lying convincingly, so i never really paid it much attention.  needless to say, it seems to be a big thing over here – consequently, i have repeatedly been one of those people who always gets caught out by the fake news item or prank, and feels like a dolt for the rest of the day.

so as i was going into a team meeting this morning and something uncharacteristically popped into my head, i thought i’d try my hand at pulling off an april fool’s joke of my own.  at the end of the meeting, when we got to the “any other business” item on the agenda, i cleared my throat and put on my best sombre face.

“i just wanted to let people know that i’m going to be leaving ………”

i looked across the table as my boss’ face fell in exaggerated comic slo-mo, and couldn’t contain myself.

“bwaaaaaaaaaahahahahaha!!!  april fools!!”

turns out, it’s not that funny.

(also: apparently there’s some unwritten rule that says all april fool’s jokes pranks must be perpetrated before noon.  at 12:30, i was in clear violation of the code.)

sigh.

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j and i are headed off to south africa late tomorrow evening.  really looking forward to it, as haven’t been there since our wedding 4 years ago.  going to get a tan or die trying!

all of which is by way of saying blogging will likely be non-existent for the next two weeks  – play nice everyone, and see you when i get back!

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i swear one day immigration is going to arrive at my front door and revoke my burgundy passport on the spot. i simply *cannot* get the hang of a proper bath.

i’ve written here about my difficulty with baths before, but they say god loves a tryer. i had scoured the bathroom yesterday ceiling to floor – a not-small feat considering the things that were growing in there – followed by a run and some yoga. after all that exertion, and with a pristine bathroom to take advantage of, i decided to make good use of some of the lovely lush bath stuff my dear husband gave me on our anniversary the other day.

i ran the bath in optimistic anticipation as it filled up with clouds of scented foam. dimmed the lights, grabbed a book, and hopped in.

unfortunately a) i hadn’t regulated the temperature of the bathwater well enough and b) had grabbed a less than compelling book, so after a mere few minutes, i was smelling good, but bored and chilly and cursing the waste of a gorgeous bath bomb. i managed to hold out for a full fifteen minutes before conceding defeat.

today, i had a 12 mile run in the damp and cold, as well as a still-sparkling tub, and decided that this presented a perfect opportunity to enjoy-this-if-it-kills-me-dammit! determined to avert the problems of the previous evening, i selected another luxurious bath fizzy, ran a *hot* bath, and brought my ipod to listen to. sorted.

except that after about 5 minutes, i began to perspire – lightly at first, then sweating profusely. the room was a bit steamy, the too-hot water was weighing heavily on my chest, and i was suddenly having a hard time breathing and feeling a bit faint. hanging over the side of the tub, trying to figure out how to put my head between my knees when my knees were underwater, i felt like an idiot – visions of the headlines after i drowned from passing out in the bath swimming before my eyes.

i officially give up. i have two more bathballs left in the box. they smell fantastic, but after my near death experience this evening, i think they’ll be relegated to perfuming the back of my closet.

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thanks to the miracle of podcasts, i now find myself spending much of my free time listening to public radio and news.  i am fast turning into my mother – which simultaneously scary and comforting.

however, if i begin to lose my glasses every 30 seconds, or start collecting endless piles of tupperware, someone please take me out behind the shed and shoot me.

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happy mardi gras! for those of you stateside, the uk celebrates “pancake day” for shrove tuesday. which entails eating pancakes for dinner – an enterprise i could thoroughly get behind, except that “pancake” here refers to a crêpe. with lemon and powdered sugar. or golden syrup.

they do sell bisquick here though, thank goodness, so we had fluffy american shortstacks with maple syrup and butter.

the bottle of maple syrup we purchased says, “delicately smooth taste of butterscotch and creme caramel.” um, no. butterscotch tastes like butterscotch. caramel tastes like caramel. and maple tastes like maple.

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we went to a wedding in the yorkshire dales this weekend. i’d never been, and omfg it is gorgeous. like, beautiful in the way i dreamt of when i read “all creatures great and small” as a kid (fitting, as james herriot was writing about yorkshire). and no, i clearly never watched “emmerdale”, either.

i’ve never been particularly enamoured of the english countryside except in a drive-by-on-the-motorway-oh-wow-look-at-the-sheep-and-pasture kind of way. i know that rolling green hills and quaint thatched roofs is what everyone thinks of when they think of pastoral england, but most of the countryside i’ve seen has been of the home counties – and it has never really appealled.

but something about the dales just struck me. had me daydreaming about living out in the sticks in an old stone house and going for brisk rambles with a dog by my side. (working remotely from a london job, natch.) how could you not?

the sad reality is that my marriage simply could not survive rural living – i would get bored, drive jonno insane, and then he’d have to kill me.

but a girl can dream…

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ahhh, how i miss snow. big, white piles of pillowsoft snow. snow that slows down the earth’s spin, dampens down the volume, fills in the nooks with lofty frozen batting, smooths over the rough edges, makes the world clean again. there’s a sweet smell to the air when it snows like that – a lightness that gets up inside your nostrils and fills your lungs. a brightness that illuminates the sky like moonglow, bouncing off the underside of the low clouds. snow that drifts through the air like glittering feathers, coating the pavement, the lampposts, the brims of hats with a thick icing of fluff. snow that puts life on pause, creates calm in a storm, and merits wonder and awe.

and finally snow!  real snow!

everything has, of course, ground to a complete halt.  it took jonno more than 2 hours to get to work.  i have a feeling it’ll take him a lot longer to get home, as it’s supposed to continue to accumulate throughout the day.

but isn’t it beautiful!

this song sounds like snow to me…
Sigur Rós – Inní mér syngur vitleysingur

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today was a day of organising and decluttering, long overdue. those who’ve been to our flat in person will find it hard to believe – because our place is so small, we’re constantly tidying up. and yet, look below the surface clean, and there is chaos.

it’s so strange to me, this instinctive human impulse for accumulation – in spite of all our best efforts, we acquire layers of possessions, nests of debris. like shed skins, we pile up these papers and mementos, tchotchke, odds and ends, bits and bobs. things past usage, things saved for future. piles of bills, old cds, random wires, singular socks, wrapping paper, plastic bags. spatula handles, popped lightbulbs, class notebooks, cat fur, bedraggled scarves, important newspaper clippings. stray mints, plug adapters, lip balm, couch cushion change, empty shampoo bottles, dead plant leaves, damp towels.

i’ve completely purged my belongings twice in the last 6 years. and yet somehow, i have so much *stuff*.

i have a theory that most people can be categorised as “savers” or “throwers”, and that the two types tend to end up pairing off in couples. i am a thrower, j is a saver. between us, somehow we strike a kind of uneasy balance.

and yet, even as ruthless as i can be about getting rid of random *things*, they collect. they gather in the back of drawers and closets. they pool in the hidden corners of the room, conglomerating through the magnetic attraction of dust and static. creating small planets of mass which exert a gravitational force on other free-floating loose ends. gradually intruding ever so stealthily on the clean, open spaces. the accretion of detritus, cluttering up the fringes of everything.

until i can stand it no more, and am forced to spend the entire day with shredders, brooms and bins, scouring the dark nooks and crannies, mercilessly cleansing and exorcising. and then the cycle begins again.

zookeeper – i live in the mess you are

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in speaking about the inauguration today, my colleague turned to me and said, “so how long until he gets assassinated?”

it made me really angry, actually.  because if there’s one thing this election has taught me about stereotypes, it’s this:  that many brits, who’ve never so much as set foot in the country, or known another American personally, are perfectly eager to believe that the entire United States of America is overrun with gun-toting, rabid racists, who’d more likely shoot a black man than vote for him.

i can’t begin to enumerate the times that someone i considered otherwise intelligent told *me*, as someone who spent nearly thirty years there, that America would never elect a black man as President.   in all seriousness – even when the polls were showing otherwise, even as Obamamania  was sweeping much of the country.

Brits often like to fancy themselves more enlightened on the issue of race – they see our nation’s ongoing open dialogue about race relations, our continual acknowledgement of the history of slavery, our attempts to identify ourselves in a way which is inclusive of our individual heritages, as evidence that America *must* be more racist.  look how much we talk about it!  look at the news stories!  i’ve heard time and again from the media here that they don’t want to face the same problems that America does.

of course, the UK has more than its own fair share of racism – overt, covert, and ingrained- and as i’ve pointed out here before, things are far from all jolly and equal here.  they simply deal with it differently, and have a different historical framework.

but i can honestly say, that i never would have believed so many of them would willingly subscribe to such a facile and shallow portrayal of a country they only know from television.  and that in a subtle but undeniable way, so many would have wanted to see the US fail to elect a black man, because it would justify their belief in their superiority to the Americans.   so many who honestly wanted to be able to say to me, “i told you so.”

so the comment about assassination pissed me off, because it speaks to the gross and crude stereotype about America that so many Brits want to believe.

of course we have problems.  but we also have many kind, good, generous people.  we are a nation of so many, with so much.  so many people who believe that the one thing which *does* describe our country as a whole, is our collective power to constantly evolve into brighter and better versions of ourselves.  a society which can always do better and be better than it was yesterday.

but of all days, today is a day for hope and change.  what could i do?  i smiled and let it go.

i know my america is bigger and better than any narrow stereotype.  i know my america is wider and more encompassing than just its history.  the proof is on my telly right now.

history speaks for itself.

otis redding – a change is gonna come

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we spent new year’s eve at our friends k&t’s flat, which was lovely – good food, good drink, good friends.  and yet, a little part of me couldn’t help but wish we were celebrating back at our place.

our flat is really small; tiny, actually.  it’s just livable for two – get more than 3 people in it, and it’s officially crowded.  there are exactly 2 comfortable seats on the sofa, and too often guests end up cross-legged on the floor with pillows, like student dormitory refugees.  if we have a couple over for dinner, we have to perform magic tricks with the expanding dining table, then collapse it back again after eating so that people can actually cross the room.

i charitably call it “cozy”.  jonno calls it “claustrophobic”.

we’ve been here over two years now -  it was our first place we’d picked out together, and i admit now that i probably always liked it more than he did.  still, it’s been a pretty comfortable place for us – well located, nicely furnished (as furnished flats go), quiet.

lately jonno has been making noises about wanting to move.  he points out that in the current housing market, we could probably get more for our money.  loathe though i am to admit he’s right, even have to concede the point.  and i’m also reaching that stage where all the little niggling irritations that you find in any living space, have built up to larger annoyances.  the laissez-faire landlord which was initially a bonus, has now become aggravatingly difficult to reach for repairs.  the double-glazing that keeps so much heat in, also turns our bathroom into a replica rainforest of moisture and moss.  the tidy kitchen with its compact appliances and fridge, means we spend lots more time and money on frequent grocery shopping.

i’ve agreed, reluctantly, to begin looking for somewhere new, and we’ll probably move in a couple months time.  which means this was likely our last new year in this flat.

so it felt a bit sad to be spending it elsewhere.  because for all its faults, one of the amazing things about this flat has always been the view.

i shall miss that immensely.

something corporate – watch the sky

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