what next?

The last couple of weeks have been a bit chaotic. Moving home always measures pretty high up on the stress-o-meter. Once we had marginally recovered from the anxiety of having the moving truck packed but technically not yet owning our new property, we had to contend with a broken shower, no hot water in the bathroom and a malfunctioning oven. But it was okay because we had a new flat and we had each other. Momentary bliss proves to be just that when, attempting to pull out of one of the terribly awkward parking spots in our new street, I managed to knock over a parked scooter...into a parked van. You simply wouldn't believe me if I tried to describe the damage to the scooter while myself and the van got off with one scratch between us (and it's not on our car). As much as I love our new flat, this week I am content to leave it in the hands of the refurbishers while Fox and I retreat to Mom's to keep an eye on the resident delinquent while "Granskies" jets off to Australia to meet her first grandchild, Abby Rose.
Living with a teenager is keeping me consistently amused as I try to decipher the string of latest slang that pours forth out of his mouth, coax him into eating a meal with a nutritional value higher than that of Sam's Chicken and make requests through his permanently closed bedroom door. This morning I had to chuckle at the state of panic when his desire for independence backfired, leaving him standing in his boxers cursing at the injustice of having no dry jeans to wear. (Aaz, on the off chance you are actually reading this, I'm sorry I'm such a cruel sister but it was very funny. Don't worry, Des also has me as a sister...she can sympathise with you.) Thankfully, I'm not too old to remember the days when adults knew nothing, my friends were my world and everything was too much effort.
So, as I turn my attention back to Virgina Woolf and fall under the spell of Mrs Dalloway's London, I think of my own London where there is just never a dull moment.

relocation, relocation

I’m staring at an empty bookshelf and marvelling at the towers of boxes surrounding me. I arrived in the UK six years ago with one suitcase and it has now taken me three full days to pack our possessions in preparation for our move tomorrow. It’s hard to believe that we have lived here for more than two years in our first little flat as a married couple. And when I say little, I mean little. Hence, the upgrade.
Nostalgia makes me sentimental. That’s until I recall the nights of surround sound thanks to the neighbour upstairs, or the constant cigarette fumes from the people beside us and let me not neglect the granny downstairs who blasts her opera music every time our washing machine goes into spin cycle. Despite all that, I’m going to miss this place. So many hours of DIY to make it our own, Fox’s ingenious rewiring, trips to home stores to find the perfect mirror or lampshade and there is, of course, the world’s most expensive tie-backs (long time blog devotees might remember the dedication that went into making these). We’ve really made it ours over the years and it’s hard to let go.
But then, I am looking forward to a full-size fridge, my own study and a balcony where I can keep the live, potted Christmas tree which I have refused to let Fox leave out for the council to turn into compost. Hey, at least we don’t have to buy one this year! There are all new streets to learn as we cross the border from SW15 to SW18 (albeit only by one mile) and new locals to explore.
Farewell, Harwood. We have done all we can, outgrown the space you offer and now leave you in the hands of another who I’m sure will cherish you as much as we have. Farewell, Putney. It is perhaps you I will miss the most, with your crazy high street, convenient transport links and your all-round good reputation. However, we’re just down the road so I will see you often for walks along the river and dinner in your eateries. But it’s time to say goodbye…