Living Alone

'You're your own boss you can do as you please
Open a window and let in a breeze
You sit down to dinner, yeah, you cooked your own
You light a candle, you're living alone.' - Loudon Wainwright III

Despite appearances, my determination to buy my own place was not primarily so that I could fancy it up with clocks and cushions and oversized lamps. I'm pleased that the textiles and colour scheme accurately reflect the inside of my soul but those things are not my greatest self indulgence. My greatest self indulgence has been living alone. I have wanted to live alone for a long time. I've lived in 8 different flats/houses/hovels since I moved here 7 years ago. I have had some wonderful homes and shared them with some fascinating people. Some were dickheads. Some have become close friends. Most I look back on with great fondness, with appreciation and retrospective wisdom. But living by myself has always been my holy grail - perhaps in the same way that others fantastise about travel, I fantasised about being home alone.

Sometimes it's so great it's almost overwhelming. I talk to myself constantly. I sometimes eat my dinner in the bath. I relish opening the fridge and being the master of all I survey. I would happily spend days here without ever leaving, but I'm worried I'm unlearning a lot of my co-habitation skills which I may well need again at some stage in the very distant future. What if I meet someone who one day wants to move in? I can barely stomach the idea of my books being mixed up with someone else's, let alone foreign hair in the plughole. That person would have to be extraordinarily wonderful, and also incredibly tolerant and kind. In a sad, selfish way I'm almost hoping that person doesn't exist.

Anniversary

Sunday was my one month anniversary in the flat. In some ways I can't believe it's been a whole month - in others ways I feel like I've been here forever. A bit like any love affair I suppose. And I can attest - it's love. Right now I'm sitting on my sofa in a kaftan, scented candle burning, pot of cinnamon tea at my side. My sofa has wide arms which are perfect for balancing every necessity within easy reach. Phone, laptop, various components of the Sunday Times. I realise that several cats would seem like a natural addition but unfortunately I'm allergic. I do now own about six too many cushions though which are filling the void as well as completing the picture of eccentricity. My calendar has been cleared. I intend to spend every night this week this way, surrounded by cushions, newspaper supplements and tea. In years to come we may grow tired of eachother, this sofa and I, but it's difficult to imagine. This may be a death knell for my modest social life.

I continue to primp and spoil the place, and I can't seem to stop picking up little pictures everywhere despite the fact that they usually clash with the ones I already have. I got these Lucienne postcards on sale at Heals and put them in a frame I bought for someone else by accident (long story)



And this lamp, which I actually ordered in March and only received last week, is as tall as an average man (about the closest thing to anything man like that I foresee spending extended periods of time here).

Anniversary

Home

It's only been a few weeks but it's already hosted a flatpack party and seen a whole lot of nudity (all mine). This is my flat. I guess buying a place is probably a bit like going into labour - you forget about the all the pain and sweating and abandonment of dignity when you finally get to see what you've gone through it all for. That is, crossing the threshold and taking off all your clothes. Enjoy the photos.

















And this is where I'm headed for the rest of the evening: