Tuesday 25 May 2010

Relocation, Relocation

So, as it's nearly halfway through the year (OMG, as the young people say, how the fuck did that happen?) I thought I'd provide an update on how the Things To Do Before I'm 40 resolutions are progressing. To which the short answer is 'as well as they usually do, of course.' To whit:

1/ I gave up booze for January and lost weight (hurrah!) I possibly even went to the gym a couple of times (yay!) I then got so stressed at work that I couldn't really eat - it became a standing joke with my colleagues that I'd still have half of the piece of toast I was supposed to have for breakfast sitting on my desk by 4pm, so that I could have it as an afternoon snack. Which was obviously good for weight loss, but less so for my mental/emotional health (muted huzzahs?)

2/ My flat remained a tip.

3/ Clearly, I didn't feel like interwebnet dating. I made do with reading Lucy Robinson's very funny blog about it on the Marie Claire website. Man, that girl knows how to pick the mentals out of every bag of dating Revels.

4/ I didn't tango, I didn't sing except in the shower. There remains a list a yard long of exhibitions/films/bars/restaurants that I want to go to.

But wait, what's this? Change is, in fact, afoot. Big change. Changes, plural, in fact! Yes, to celebrate my Big Birthday, I've not only bagged a new job, but I'm relocating! To EDINBURGH. Nearly the opposite end of the ruddy country! Take that, voice inside that says 'you'll never get round to doing anything - you might as well give up and eat Ben and Jerry's all day'. After what must be nearly 20 years of living in this nation's glorious/grim, overcrowded, overpriced and frankly a bit scary sometimes capital, I'm heading for the frozen North. Which bears out my friend Mel's assertion from last summer, when we were up there for the Festival and checking out house prices, (because it's always fun to torture yourself with the space that you could have for the price of a one-bedroomed flat in Streatham), that, 'you're the only person I know who'd relocate to somewhere that's colder than where you currently live'.

So, I will have:
  • A new job + new colleagues
  • A new city to find my way around
  • A new group of, as yet unknown, friends
  • A new flat (well, actually two, as the one I've set my heart on isn't available till September. So for the first two months, I'll be in a house share)
  • A new, George-Clooney-in-Up-in-the-Air style attitude to domestic air travel (there'll still be lots of meetings in London). Prep the wheely bag and the shoes without laces for easy removeability!
  • And thus maybe an affair with a cocky businessman? Yeah, add that to the list
  • Hopefully a new fitness regime, which involves nothing more arduous than just walking everywhere. Which even I've managed on previous trips to Edinburgh
  • New, more reasonable taxi fares (for when I obviously tire of walking, and return to my metropolitan mindset)
  • A new attitude to my living space

This last will, fingers crossed, come about because of the efforts of three very kind friends, who dedicated an entire day a couple of weekends back to Sorting Out My Flat, as obviously now I need to rent it out. I nearly killed one of them (I had no idea she had asthma till she croaked, 'Can you open a window?' owing to the amount of dust that was being thrown up as she moved stuff around). One popped round en route to the gym, and ended up staying till 1.00am. Things were sorted, filed, thrown away, put to one side for recycling, painted, cleaned, scrubbed, put up, moved to a better position and otherwise Changing Roomed. There was even a 'big reveal' at the end, with me closing my eyes and being guided into my 'new' bedroom. There was nothing on the bed apart from a duvet, pillow and bedspread. I could get all the way round the bed, without tripping over boxes and assorted crap. I could see the floor, and I had a curtain pole (with a temporary curtain, but heck, Rome wasn't built in a day). There were candles, the mirrors were all gleaming and I had a whole basket full of beauty items, rather than stuff on the mantelpiece which repeatedly got knocked off. It was so beautiful that I really did nearly cry. (Also I was exhausted by having to make decisions about what to keep and what to get rid of. In my next life, I want to come back as a minimalist, John Pawson type, instead of a maximalist, Zandra Rhodes hoarder type).

Two of the three friends are psychologists. They tried to get to the bottom of Why I've Become Like This. One of them decided all my ratty, nesty habits were too ingrained to break. But the other has faith. 'You WILL keep it tidy and not let it get horrible again', she declared. I now get a daily text, phone call or email from her. 'WHAT'S ON YOUR BED?' it says (the bed having been, as previously revealed, also a library, a newsagent and a wardrobe). So far, the answer has been, 'Nothing, and I've even made it!' Perhaps this is the start of a new life?

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