...Or should I say, moved flat; you can hardly call this a house, and our last place comprised of one room, so not exactly a house either. Anyway, household size aside, the point is the stress of moving - packing and unpacking and sorting and decluttering - has been pushing me towards breaking point for the last few weeks. I did not know we had so much stuff. And most of it is mine, so most of the packing was left up to me, and let's just say that there are things I'd much rather be doing than wrapping up plates in newspaper and erecting cardboard boxes.
Anyway - we are here! Joy of joys! We live in a basement flat now and it is very, very nice to have a bigger space in which to live, the best bit of all being that we now have our own bathroom. Oh my God, yes. I've already spent about £50 on a ridiculous antique mirror and some overpriced (but very lovely) clay tiles to put around the sink. And I cannot get over how exciting and brilliant it is to stand shampoo bottles along the edge of the bath, and have our own hooks on which to hang our own towels. No more half-naked dashes along the public corridor, arse exposed, towel flapping in the breeze, clutching a stupid broken bathroom bag and getting heart palpitations of humiliation when you hear footsteps behind you, all to use the moldy shared shower room. These days (although we haven't even lived here a week yet, admittedly) I am an elegant Roman Goddess of Hygiene, strolling casually around naked after my shower in the mornings, just because I can.
Most of the home arranging has been self-allocated to myself, because I'm after a sense of zen-like symmetry and calm, and if it's left up to my boyfriend things will stay in boxes for about three months. Me and The Boy have already argued over where to put the sofa, where to put the hamster cage, what colour coffee table to get from Ikea, where to put his decks and what to stand the speakers on so they're not on the floor thudding bass throughout the entire building (we've settled for now on stacks of DVDs; my massive, old and valuable speakers are sort of precariously balanced on top of Anchorman and What's Eating Gilbert Grape, amongst others, and it looks a bit shit, but never mind. He wanted to use my books but I felt that was sacrilegious and had already piled up a nice sort of book arrangement in the bedroom...)
I can't wait to sort out the bedroom properly either.
This gorgeous space of minimal beauty is what I'm after, but living with my boyfriend counts for a lot of random mess and things not put back where he found them. I swear I spend most of my day moving things back to their rightful homes. Like, why do you have to leave jars of jam and peanut butter on the side? With the lids open? And the cupboard you got them from is literally just above the space on the side where you left them festering?
I'm trying to be a Domestic Goddess whilst living with my boyfriend; welcome to my online ramblings.