Monday, 21 May 2012

On Living Alone

I ended up living on my own by extreme necessity of the imminently homeless variety. Happily that never came to pass and after much begging down the phone to wealthy relatives, I scraped together a deposit and rented myself a teeny weeny unfurnished flat about 18 months ago.

Although foremost in my mind when moving in was the opportunity to bring men home to 'my place' a la Sex and the City and be rather grown-up and cas(ual) about the whole thing, otherwise I was somewhat trepidated about the prospect, but it ended up being the best thing I ever did. Soon however I am set to leave my life of occasional-debauchery-but-more-often-marathon-Grey's-Anatomy-seshes behind for the bright lights of London, where only a salary of gazillions or an extremely rich relative helpfully shuffling off the mortal whatsit will allow me the same privilege. Here are a few things I will miss about living alone:

Pretending to be batshit crazy cat lady and sometimes actually being batshit crazy cat lady. This includes talking to the cats, talking to myself, talking to the cats when they aren't actually there (not to be confused with talking to myself), shouting at neighbourhood children, smelling like wee. (Not the last one).

Drinking gin or tea in the bath with Bach on full volume and the cats sitting in the sink gazing at me in wide eyed horror.

Wandering around naked; I have no curtains. The neighbours probably do not enjoy this but I am an exhibitionist.

Having an ongoing conversation with the TV.

Shocking my colleagues with the idea that I live alone, without a MAN to look after me or pay the bills.

An immensely smug sense of satisfaction at having my own place, even if in practise it's only 12 square feet of books and cat hair.

Goodbye little house. I'll miss you.

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