Wednesday, 16 January 2013

What's a bit of mould between friends?

As the move south is just one month away, it was about time I found somewhere to live. This was not, I might add, like flat hunting in Edinburgh, which is jam-packed full of the blasted things.  No, St Ives, it transpires, is a baron wasteland of habitable rental properties.

There were times when living in a caravan was looking like an extremely appealing option.

Choosing a house – sorry, flat, sorry, box – to rent is not fun, not at all.

I do not care if the bathroom suite is avocado, but I do care if damp covers an entire wall. 'I’ve never seen it like this before' insisted the estate agent. And I will not be seeing it again – period.

It is genuinely not considered good etiquette to comment on the cleanliness in front of the people who live there. 'I don’t think this house has ever been cleaned,' I muttered under my breath at the sight of a number of dead insects on the kitchen lino.

‘Don’t mind the wife - she’s just in bed with the norovirus – go on in,’  said an enthusiastic tenant. I breathed in and popped my head round the door. Then made a mad dash to the exit and bathed in antibacterial hand-wash.

The final straw was viewing a flat in a converted attic. The owners couldn't find the keys to the door, so I had to go up through the entrance in their home. As I entered the flat the owner laughed, 'Don’t worry, once you live here that door will be always be locked.'

I was about to move into a Bronte novel.

So one thing is certain, when you finally find somewhere that is mould free, does not have a carpeted bathroom or things growing on the lino, you will not remember anything about it – like how big the lounge is, or whether you can fit a table in the kitchen.  You will simply be glad that you will not be living in Mr Rochester’s attic.

Wednesday, 2 January 2013

Out with the old: A quick round up of 2012

So, another year has bitten the dust. Farewell 2012. 2012, jees. I know that I am getting on because I’ve started using phrases such as ‘ hasn't this year gone fast?’ and, ‘there is no way that they are old enough to be in a pub.’

So what have I achieved in 2012, exactly? Have my achievements outpaced my failures? 

Achievements. Well, this might be tenuous but I bought my first lip pencil. The woman at the Mac counter didn’t seem to comprehend how I had made it through 29 years without one. Unfortunately, despite her insistence, my life has not been transformed with the addition.

Progress on the uke has been slow and steady. A maestro I am not, but I do at least know more than four chords. And in a surprising twist of fate, saving has come on in leaps and bounds. Who knew frugal living could be so enjoyable?

And failures? Well, my running efforts took a big fat nose dive when I injured my foot on the first outing. And I didn’t re-read the works of Austen after all. Neither did I truly learn how to knit (drop how many?) nor finish the bestseller.  

But I’ve got a feeling 2013 is going to be a good ‘un. I’m moving to a new part of the UK –  so far away from Edinburgh that it might as well be abroad. There are beaches there -  so perhaps this means I can now pursue my Olympic inspired dream to become a beach volley-ball superstar? Yes, that seems entirely feasible.

And hey, maybe I’ll even have some outdoor space to get the laundry dry in.

Oh, we can but dream. 

Happy New Year to y'all.