It's been a tempestuous relationship and for the last five I've been itching to up-scale, spread our wings (and many, many belongings) in to a "proper house" i.e. a two-storey property with a driveway and a garden and a shed and a garage and, and and... I want to have room to host dinner parties and have friends over to play, laugh, dance and shriek late in to the night without worrying about our downstairs neighbours. I thought I hated our little flat, but it turns out that people are right when they say there's a fine line between love and hate, because deep down I think I loved it. A lot.
Now that it's time to say goodbye, I'm so sad. I'm a sentimental old mare anyway, but looking back at the times I've spent here I'm going to miss it. It was the first place I lived after leaving my childhood home. I was living with a boy. Properly co-habiting. I was going it alone... ish. I planned our wedding there. It's been my sanctuary and my prison – well maybe not that dramatic. Without wanting to sound all clichéd, unfortunately I am. Bear with me...We laughed there, we cried there, we screamed at each other there. I've felt lonely in there, I've felt surrounded in there. I've spent time there with friends, family, loved ones, my friends' children, a few waifs and strays and even pets. I've spent a lot of time talking about how I can't wait to leave, and get started on our first proper family "home"... without ever realising that our little flat was our first little family home, even when the family was just me, Mr G and my little hamster Cookie.
I'm excited about the next step of our journey together in to a proper "grown up" house, but for now, on my last night in what I shall always affectionately call "The Flat" I'm just going to reminisce a little bit
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| remember my nautical bedroom? |
See you later, we'll miss you.
Thanks for the memories!
Your loving owners, Mr and Mrs G (nee Miss H)
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