A beginners Guide to Life by the Sea

One month into seaside living and I'm really getting a taste for the sea-air. In fact today, I saw dolphins playing off the coast. As they say in Scotland, "cannae complain lass." And complain I will not.

In summary, the last month has gone something like the following:

Bloody tourists.
Colleague: "Can you believe at the weekend I saw someone with their top off on the beach? In February? Bloody Tourists."

Me: ( internally.) Best not mention that I was there in my shorts. 

Don't anger the sea.
When it's windy by the coast, you really do notice.

Don't be deceived.
Sunshine on a February day will not a warm sea make*

*Surfing attempt no1 was called off after 15 minutes, when, upon submersion in the icy water of the Atlantic, neither the Boyfriend nor I could remember our own name.

Room with a view
Who knew offices could have views? Naturally, it's impossible to concentrate on any work at all.

A back-end issue
There are downsides to sea-side living.

Looking back
When you miss the city you left and your friends, you will feel momentarily better when you hear it's snowing up there.

Lessons from a house move

Moving, as people will cheerfully tell you, is only slightly less stressful than divorce or death. I have come out the other side. Here is my survival guide.


1. Do not develop a horrendous chest infection the day before relocating 600 miles. It will make the whole thing rather more challenging.

2. Before arriving at the Van Hire company, do check that your license photocard is in date. Turns out, they expire.

3. Accept from the beginning that you will not leave sufficient time to pack and will, at the final hour, be forced to throw any old crap in boxes at speed.

4. Cleaning your house will take much longer than expected. You will find dirt that you didn't know existed. Use the clothes you just cannot face packing to clean it up.

5. Do not forget that you have to clean the fridge. You will be repulsed by the horrors within.

6.  Do not try and reverse a long wheel base van. It's amazing how one relies on the view out of that back window.

7. Enlist the help of family members, but do not inform them of how long their train journey back home will take. There is a chance they will retract the offer of assistance.

8. There is a reason why you are advised to label your boxes. 

9. If your bedbase snaps en route, duct tape will prove surprisingly effective at holding it together.

10. When all you own is finally boxed and packed precariously in the back of van, you will have an uncharacteristic moment of melancholy. And then you will be excited about what is next to come.

 Goodbye Edinburgh, it's been a blast.

On relocation

Me: You know how we like going on holiday to Cornwall?

The Boyfriend: Yeah.

Me: And you know how we always say that we should live there one day, what with the sun and beaches?

The Boyfriend: Yeah.

Me: Well how about one day being now?

Short pause.

The Boyfriend: Alright then.

------

And so it came to pass that we moved to St Ives. 

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.

Needed: Cardboard boxes and valium

I am spending the weekend packing boxes, because folks, I’m moving flat. I am leaving the posh Georgian West End of Edinburgh for the slightly more ‘colourful’ Leith. (Location of Trainspotting for the ill informed.) The flat is lovely – in the up and coming part I’ll have you know.

And if perchance I do need drugs, they'll be easy to come by.

It is a cliché that moving house is one of the most stressful things you can do, second only to divorce. I have no direct experience of divorce, but indirect experience is bad enough, and I would certainly not choose to go through it. I do, however, choose to move house from time to time. I admit that there is stress along the way.

So far in this house move episode, I have smashed a picture, sliced my finger on the broken glass and caused a cardboard cut nice and deep on the crease where my thumb is attached to my hand. I now have only one opposable thumb.

As Celine Dion once sang, ‘It’s all coming back to me now.’ When, 2 years ago I moved into this flat, I made a solemn vow that I would be leaving it in a box. But no, seems it’s me loading up the boxes once again.

2 years ago I moved from Durham to Edinburgh. When the removal man vomited in the afternoon, I wondered if there shouldn’t be a Government Health Warning on moving house. Throughout that long, exhausting day I’m convinced my blood pressure hit danger levels on a number of occasions.

Although it could have been worse, a friend recently moved house and the day didn’t start terribly well when the removal lorry arrived at her home and reversed clean into her car. Whoops.

When I moved, an Edinburgh parking warden (read evil Nazi ticket distributor) stalked around the van desperate for me to leave it even momentarily unattended.

Whilst I was guarding the van from our fluorescently -cladded friends, the removal men were busy tearing the leather of my flatmate's one thousand pound sofa, scratching my dressers and vomiting in the stairwell.

I knew I shouldn’t have booked through gumtree.

This move hasn’t started well with my string of injuries, but I’m optimistic for an easier move this time over.

Although I am thinking of setting up a removal firm that provides a counselling service to help repair the shattered nerves of homeowners. We’ll also leave a welcome pack containing spare keys, plasters, bandages, scotch and valium.

Interested? I’ll be taking bookings... as soon as I get through my own move of course.