I think it’s safe to say, 3 weeks into my move to New Place, that I’m relatively not unhappy.
It’s taken longer than I thought to settle in, but 4 Ikea visits later, my furniture’s all bought and built and fitted blinds now replace my temporary slabs of cardboard. My new HD TV arrived this morning, and my sofa’s coming in two day’s time - if, that is, they can fit the damn thing through the front door. I forgot to check that.
My broadband’s being connected this Thursday (this is being typed on Sunday for a Monday work upload when no-one’s looking), my telephone line’s finally in, and all the loose ends are finally tied up. Now I can stop to think in my lovely tiny flat with its brand new fixtures and fittings… and I’m bored. There is nothing left to do.
I can’t remember what I did at weekends at Old Place (otherwise known as Chiswick, corner of Goldhawk Road and the High Street, just opposite the now defunct VW showroom and above the chemists), but I think having a Large Northern Flatmate a mere yell away in the next room with an off-licence below us and Internet everywhere, I was covered for the most basic of non-isolated-feeling weekends.
Yet here, in Nameless New Place Nearish London, I had to go for a walk yesterday just to get out and feel some sun. I found a very pleasant park nearby, ruined by some teen scamps drinking lager and staring. Then I found myself in Sainsburys, toyed buying some Amaretto, and bought pizza and wine instead to consume in the dark.
In other terribly exciting developments over the last few weeks:
I sprayed some WD40 into the squeaky cupboard that houses my fridge. My food still smells of lubricant.
I instructed a friend to park in my allocated, numbered space that I don’t personally use as I sold my car 6 years ago. We returned to find a car blocking him in, with a neighbourly “Thanks, Dickhead” note on his windscreen by a man who thought that the space was his. (He’s since apologised.)
I left a friendlier note under my new neighbour’s door, as it transpires my bedroom wall, and thus my head and ears, are about 5 mil from the back of their washing machine which they’d ran ‘til midnight on a school night.
Some other new homeowner in this development is a selfish bastard. Some evenings, notably Friday or Saturday nights, I can hear the muffled slam of a front door around 1am, followed by heavy footsteps somewhere, followed by more door slamming. I have yet to hear yells but I did hear the hard, rhythmic thumps of someone demanding someone else shut the fuck up, which neatly demonstrates why I really, really, really love other people.
I now have Sky TV meaning I’ve recorded an overabundance of Family Guys and Frasiers. In fact, that’s all I seem to watch; that, an Australian Reality doc called Nothing To Declare, and Babestation for ten minutes once when I was drunk, although it’s utter shit.
I have also discovered a family of bats living in the eaves of the building, and a future mosquito hazard thanks to the central water feature of the development (which has currently gone green because the developers are still building and there’s no point dredging it until they’re done). Oh, there’s also the relaxing sound of hammering at 9am on weekends.
There will also be a gym ready for use in a month’s time, so I could potentially CHANGE MY ENTIRE FUCKING LIFE living here, but we’ll see. I’m well aware of this incredible opportunity I’ve been afforded, although I tend to fuck up things like incredible opportunities.
So there we go, my first update in New Place. I’ll have broadband at the end of the week, so expect plenty of lonely angst in the coming months.