I’m moving on Saturday.
It’s a long story, but all you really need to know is that our soon-to-be former landlord has proved himself to be totally cretinous. Imagine a landlord version of gaslighting, where despite all behavioural (and legal) evidence to the contrary, he tries to convince you that you are in fact doing him a massive disservice by, for instance, asking that your deposit be protected. He believes that he can’t possibly be a dodgy landlord because, and I quote, ‘I’ve never asked you to pay in cash’. SIGH.
Anyway, my housemates and I are looking forward to the day when a text from our landlord no longer induces a migraine, and this Saturday are moving to what promises to be a delightful little house in Tottenham.
Cue a frenzy of sorting, donating and packing. I am incredulous at my ability to have amassed so much crap in just two years. Random wires for products I’m not even sure I own, magazines kept because I ‘might get into scrapbooking’, and so much contact lens solution I could bathe in it (why do they send so much every month?!).
That dress I’ve had for about four years on the justification that I’ll eventually feel ‘mature’ enough to wear it? Yep, it’s not left the cupboard. Turns out I still like dungarees and cheap jewellery.
Of course, moving inevitably comes with a bunch of bullshit promises to myself that this time I’m going to hoover and dust my room at least once a week, that I’ll stay on top of my laundry, and always fold my clothes neatly. It hasn’t happened yet, but the 31st year’s a charm, right?
It feels good though. Particularly at the end of the year, it’s a powerful clean slate to purge half your belongings and move somewhere new and exciting. Suddenly a walk to the train station is unfamiliar! Will we have a local? Where will I do my ‘big’ food shop? Will the neighbours appreciate very loud improvised songs? Moving turns the mundane into…an adventure! It doesn’t take much to please me- I’ve been sleeping on a mattress for the last few nights having already dismantled my bed, it’s got me feeling bohemian as hell and I love it.
But as I pack up the last few things on Saturday, I’m sure there’ll be a moment of reflection in the excitement.
Au revoir, Walthamstow. You felt like home.
(Apart from that knobby landlord)