These are ma crazy eyes
One whole week later, and we’re all moved in. The boxes have been unpacked (and are now laying desolate and minging outside the back door waiting for one of us to take them to the recycling); the fridge has been filled with beer, and our new coffee table has been refurbished successfully. Et voila! I am now a real grown up adult living with my boyfriend.
My dear friends and family have all sent anxious and enquiring texts asking how it all was, and I have looked at them all and closed them just as quickly, for the fact I have absolutely no idea what to say other than; “err yeah, it’s great thanks. The house is wonderful, although the shower was crap to begin with and we didn’t know how to work the boiler and our microwave looks like a serious health hazard and the kitchen floor was sticky but is now shiny and I had to use so much bleach in the bathroom all the skin on my hands has come off. But, err yeah, I absolutely love it!”. Because, let’s face it, that does not exactly paint the picture of first domestic bliss that I was hoping to portray. More ‘slumming it’ than ‘Laura Ashley’.
Last Thursday we officially got the keys to our wonderful new rental property in central Reading, ideally located between the University, hospital and train station. I was in a really pissy mood because I hadn’t slept very well the night before, but even this self confessed demon from hell couldn’t contain her excitement of being handed her own set of keys to a slightly dirty, but otherwise fabulous victorian terraced house, complete with cellar and back garden. I looked at our cobwebbed front door and beamed; yes, there were more cobwebs than you could shake a feather duster at, but they were our cobwebs and I loved them.
View from our front door
We then did what any self respecting newly moved in couple does and hot footed our way to TK Maxx, land of dreams and empty bank balances, to buy reed diffusers, scented drawer sheets, photo boxes and bed linen we couldn’t afford. And then tiptoed to Sam’s 99p Store (Yes! It really was called that – fate!), to buy all the rest of the stuff we actually might have needed to spruce our new house up. This included bleach, spray detergent, bleach, toilet blocks, scourers, washing up liquid, bleach, kitchen roll, toilet roll, bleach…etc., etc.. That was a pretty boring shop.
Neither of us could face the mammoth cleaning task at hand, so we procrastinated the day away buying bargain coffee tables at Argos (more on that another day), eating noodles at Tampopo on the canal side, arguing about which kettle/toaster combination we should have, and taking a very late night shopping trip to Asda to buy food and muck around in the toilet brush aisle. Scrubbing the bathroom floor at 11pm felt so much more rock and roll than it should have done.
My wonderful brother delivered my van load of possessions on Saturday morning – and he did it with a smile, even though he was hungover and had been stuck on the m25 for aaaages. What a babe.
Unsurprisingly, the next 72 -102 hours were spent unpacking boxes. And that is not very interesting to write about. It is not very interesting to do either.
Arty kitchen shot ( ’cause it’s more exciting than unpacking boxes…)
So on that happy note, my dear loved ones, this is a message to tell you I am safe and happy and I haven’t locked myself out yet (although Sam did lock me in the house accidentally).
Love ya,
Jo
JoannaJessica 