So, the house contract is signed and it’s time to start to prepare to move again. You’d think I would be used to it by now given the number of times I have moved over the last decade or so.
There were the various houses I lived in at university, all of which were remarkably nice. I remember being horrified at having to pay £28 per week in rent. Those were the days...
I have lived in a number of places since but none surpass the memories etched on my brain from living with the woman I affectionately refer to as ‘evil landlady’. I wouldn’t claim to be the perfect tenant but it seems that my incompetence knew no bounds if the number of things I got told off for (and that is the correct phrase!) while I lived in her house is anything to go by. Let me give you some examples:
Not doing the washing up correctly. Did you now that it is wrong, wrong, wrong to fill a sink with water to do the washing up? What you actually must do is wash up under a running tap – but don’t run the tap too fast as that is also unforgivable. It is almost as bad as using that terrible Fairy liquid stuff. Instead you should be using some specially imported environmentally friendly washing up liquid. I remember doing the washing up sometimes and hearing evil landlady's approaching footsteps. I could feel the tension in my back and my mind would start to whirr "Am I running the tap too fast?" "Am I using the right cloth?" "Have I used too much washing up liquid?". You get the picture.
But the errors of my way were much worse than that… Too many crumbs in the toaster; too much steam when cooking vegetables; items that could be recycled being put in the bin. Now I am all for recycling but an occasional error in judgment being picked up because… wait for it… she used to go through my rubbish, began to grate just a teeny bit.
And let’s not even get on to arguing at 7 o’clock one morning when she announced I needed to leave one week before my notice expired because she needed the room back. A little tip, don’t even attempt a conversation with me at 7am, let alone one where you are going to try to renege on your legal obligations. The list could go on, but suffice to say that when I tunnelled my way out she did not get another tenant and not once did I regret the decision to escape.
Then I moved to the place I lived in until November last year. I lived there for over two years and it was a nice enough place, although very much more my housemate’s place than my own. There was also the chap who lived downstairs who liked to threaten both his girlfriend and his neighbours on a regular basis. I think the police and council were working on an ASBO to try and keep him in check when I moved out. Now I am set to move to another temporary abode, having just sorted the mouse problem where I am currently staying. So it has been an eventful few years. Anyway, hopefully after that I’ll move to a place that I will have bought. It would be nice to live somewhere that feels rather more permanent.
The new place looks good with the added bonus of a cat and no longer having to live on my own. I am not suited to solitary living. It’s just a shame that I will have to put some stuff in storage. I will have to work out how much I need something to be immediately at hand. My biggest concern is my books though. I won’t be too impressed if I have to pack loads of those away. I had actually put a ban on buying new books over the last few months and yet I still seem to have about 30 more books than I did when I moved to where I am now. How does that happen in the space of two months?
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