Being firmly ensconced in my new abode is rather a lovely feeling, but also rather unsettling; Where did I put the teabags? Which cupboard now holds the bread? My mum unpacked a lot of the kitchen, so I had to learn where everything was – thankfully (and worryingly for my mum), we think rather alike.
So, now I am living alone again, after 14 months of sharing with my mum and dad. It was like having a couple of housemates, really. I’d last lived with them when I was 24 years old and a callow youth – I’m sure we’re all been there? Well, maybe that’s just me.
I can no longer be considered “youth” – I missed the millennial generation by a decade, I think, and I now tick the “35-40” box on forms – and I hope beyond hope that I’m no longer callow. Eccentric, maybe, but that’s a badge I’ll wear with pride.
Moving in with my parents after 11 years was something that was always going to be an experimental attempt at living together. But it was really like living with a couple of housemates, so much so that it’s really quite strange being by myself again.
My first weekend in the new place – right on the Broadstairs / Ramsgate border – was a strange one. I’m the sort of person who likes to be organised – very organised – and get everything done right away. That, sadly, isn’t always – hardly ever – possible, although I struggle to remember that simple fact.
However, by the end of the first day, I was a good 80% done, with the help of removals men and a small cadre of people dipping in, and even had time to go out to dinner with a friend of mine to celebrate. It was a good enough start for me and when I got home from a little light gambling afterwards at the casino, I ended up doing some ironing and tidying up the bedroom – because I wanted it done and couldn’t wait.
By lunchtime Sunday – with some more help from my folks – my curtains were up, everywhere was hoovered, dusted, and polished to within an inch of its life, and my plant was in situ. The plant was more important than anything, except my books. They make me happy.
I spent Sunday night by myself for the first time in 14 months, and I quickly adjusted to it – with all my old possessions around me and a bright moon shining in through the windows – I started to appreciate the possibilities open before me.
Sharing with my parents has been a pleasure but it felt like the right time to move for any number of reasons. There’s so much I want to do and explore with my work and life generally that having a space I can call my own was important – although that doesn’t stop my 14 months with The Folks being a valuable, appreciative experience that helped me recharge my batteries.
So, on with a new challenge and next stage of my life; but in the meantime, here’s to family life in all its forms!