What better way to start a blog than with an exasperated statement.
We are moving AGAIN, and up North in Harrogate, Yorkshire. I can practically feel my fingers droop in disinterest as I’m typing these words. Not at the location, at the thought of packing. every. single. item.
Since marrying the lovely C, we have moved three times in two years ( this being the third due to his job constantly changing around the country). We shall being moving two rather excitable Norwegian Forest Cats, a partly broken sofa-bed from IKEA ( my hatred of this particular piece could be comical, if I didn’t look at it with the vehement gaze of someone shitting in my handbag ), and my rather extensive book collection, (as much as I hate people labelling themselves like ‘foodies/ gym-addicts’, I would say I’m teetering on the line of ‘Bibliophile’, which sounds like a dirty Catholic porno to me).
That’s the tip of a very large iceberg in terms of what we own. When I say ‘we’ I mean me. My job luckily requires me to work from home primarily, so all of my cooking & home ware hoarding will also have to find their new home in some new unfamiliar place until we wait out Brexit.
We are currently waiting to pounce on our future rental property like grabbing that last coat at a sample sale. We know it may not be the right one for us immediately, but my god we will try it on for size, who cares if its too big or too small, it will just have to bloody do for the next six months. The point of that terrible analogy, is that England has such a high turnover for rental accommodation, and I will admit, have even higher standards, but one of us is going to have to compromise.
Of course, the demand for rental properties around where I grew up ( North Essex/ Guildford/ London), has given me the exact appearance and manner of a Chihuahua when browsing house websites, shaking and crazily barking down the phone down to estate agents, desperately trying to be the first person to view a crap studio flat in time. Alas, by the time you say the words ‘ crippling admin fees’, the place you wanted has already gone. Finding a place up North, has been an oddly relaxed affair, one that I’m not exactly used to.
It kind of feels like the housing market in the South, is like all of the boys your parents warned you about when you were younger. Looks so great on the outside, having the status of living somewhere cool & trendy, but will absolutely fuck you over eventually , leave you a financial husk of yourself, and you find yourself whispering to the empty apartment, ‘but do I need you?’.
The North has been like that quiet guy you have always kind of noticed , but nether thought of in that way, until you had been exposed to them for some chance reason. You notice your friends warming to the place as well even though they are still in their ‘bad boy’ phase. It’s easier, less stressful, on your terms and you find yourself saving money again. It feels like it’s meant to be. I may be dreading moving again, but it’s the one move I can say with complete sincerity, one I’m actually excited for.