ella

22 | female | uk


Monday, 30 April 2012

Bath time.

Having our own bathroom is still a novelty. I got overly excited in Poundland about buying a toilet brush and toilet cleaner, and even more thrilling was my purchase of a bath mat from BHS. I seem to have made the mistake of buying a white bath mat however, as three days in and it's already filthy. 

We shared a bath the other night, which was very romantic and everything; I lit loads of candles and we smoked cigarettes in there and drank rum. At this point the bath mat was pristine, until The Boy ashed all over it (luckily no ash got in the bath water), but I have to admit I sighed a little inside at the seeming impossibility of keeping things clean with him around, flailing his Mayfairs all over the place. 

He's also been wearing his wet muddy shoes indoors and as he walks into the bathroom, stomping footmarks all over the floor and adding to the steadily increasing grime on what was once a shining new, soft pile bath mat. Sigh sigh sigh. Oh well. This is all a learning curb in the trials of cohabitation.




Sunday, 29 April 2012

The Boy is drunk.

He just came galumphing in from the pub, stumbled past me into the bathroom and did the hugest of pisses (pent up cider) which I could hear with perfect clarity through the door. It was like the cascading fall of Niagra or something, crashing down into our comparably minute toilet. Seriously; bloke pee is fucking next level compared to lady pee.

Sorry, is this TMI? I don't care. I have to deal with listening to a man piss on a daily basis, and I love him and I love living with him, but it's just things like this that make me sigh, and then laugh. We are very different creatures. 

He's now trotted off to the shop (second attempt, after forgetting his wallet the first time) and just rang me asking if Greek yoghurt would be okay. Okay for what? I ask. He got confused with that and cottage cheese ahhh.

I definitely want a cat.

It would be so adorable. I'm hankering after an Oriental Shorthair kitten for feline cuddles, grey and sleek and gorgeous. They don't come cheap though, alas. 

Not sure what The Boy thinks on this matter; he's totally besotted with our hamster and any threat to the little thing is treated with a huge degree of caution, mistrust and suspicion. But I think, if the kitten grew up around it, it would be okay right? Plus the hamster is in an enormous metal cage-prison with bars and locks and all sorts of cat-proof fortifications...

Obviously it would be up to me to litter train a baby kitten and clean up its inevitable shitting on the carpet. And we'd have to hide it from our landlord as "pets of any kind are NOT permitted", according to our rather angry sounding tenancy agreement. And we'd have to feed it expensive biscuits because the smell of tinned cat food is just utterly, utterly hideous. And we'd have to fork out for surprise vet bills too, no doubt.
 

But the good things about having a cat far outweigh all the fur balls and carpet soiling, in my opinion. We'd be able to curl up with it on the sofa. It would sleep in the sun, all regal and aloof. It'd just come padding across the floor to say hello when you come home. Plus, cats are hilarious and they make me smile. Meow. 

I'm going to talk with my Boy about this and try to convince him it's a really really good idea.

We have moved house.

...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.