When we first moved into this flat, we thought it was going to be for a year – tops. Well, almost seven years have gone by and although we’ve never really been in-love with living here, we certainly have got some great memories from it.
But now the time has come for us to move on and make somewhere new our home. The flat is under offer (for the second time…the first lot pulled out…b*stards) and we have found a lovely little house that we think we could be happy in for a few years (which will probably end up being more like 20 years, knowing us).
I’m excited for our new venture – there’s lots of potential for improvements and decorating (we never really did anything to our flat because we didn’t think we’d be here long enough!), it has parking, it has a garden with a wall perfect for projecting films onto (it’s a point on my bucket list), an oddly massive bathroom and room to expand into the integral garage. My Pinterest obsession has reawakened and I find myself spending hours looking for ideas for decorating. I have far more ideas than the actual house could possibly accommodate for let alone the means of doing most of it or even find the funds for (moving is an expensive game. Who knew?).
But as excited as I am, there’s still an apprehensive feeling inside me for if we’re making the wrong choice; a sadness that this era of my life in this flat is coming to an end; a worry that the next lot of people won’t take care of it; and an even odder feeling that I’ll end up leaving something important behind and will never see it again.
This will no longer be my flat. With its big rooms and en-suite bathroom, its massive airing cupboard (think of a walk-in wardrobe), the balcony overlooking the park, the storage heaters that we’ve never used (Reg, our first rabbit, bit through the wire of the one in the living room; the second is in the spare room – behind a big desk; the third and final is in the main bedroom – behind a chest of drawers, so no point using any of them); the lovely red squishy carpet that was the very first thing to go into the flat; the road noise – OK, perhaps I won’t miss that. I feel safe living in a flat – and although we don’t know many of our neighbours – there’s a community feel about the place.
I remember one winter when I was out of work from redundancy and it had snowed so heavily that there was even snow on the balconies. I went out onto my balcony and made a snowman – his name was Jack. Obviously. But whilst I was out there the postman still managed to deliver his letters despite the slippy ice everywhere (what a trooper), some teenagers started throwing snowballs at him. And instead of getting pissed off and angry he just put his bag down and threw some right back at them.
The countless nights that I have been woken up from sleep by loud drunken passers-by and parties in flats going on until dawn – it all made me so angry each time – but now I look on it all with a smile. That definitely won’t happen in this new house…I’m pretty sure…
The night I got the phone call about my Grandad being ill and it being time to say goodbye. The time my older sister phoned me to tell me she was getting married. The cramped dinner parties. The time I spent a week ill in bed and binge watched ‘Come Dine with Me’. The various leaks from the upstairs flat. Being woke up every morning at 6am to the sound of a shaver being bashed against the sink from the upstairs flat. Being woken every morning by the sound of an elephant on a treadmill – again from the upstairs flat – we were not sorry when they moved out. The day we got our first rabbit before we had the carpet put down and he couldn’t walk on the slippy lino flooring so he kept star fishing until he got his grip sorted. The Eurovision parties with the vodka jelly sweets that never quite turned out right. The tears, the laughter, the sorrow, so much has happened here, and I know I am no longer the same girl who moved in. I’ll be sorry to say goodbye when the time comes.
The vendors of the new house have said they want to complete by the end of September – so the rest of us are trying our best to get everything done as quickly as we can. I could only have a few more weeks to live here – I’m really not sure how I feel about that. I just have to enjoy the time I’ve got left here I guess.
Are you moving or just moved? How’d it all go for you?