This time last week, I was packing the last of our possessions into boxes and enthusiastically hoping they’d fit in the van I’d guessed would be the right size to transport them all to our new home. I’ve not been working in complete paragraphs or even particularly coherent sentences since then.
The inside of my brain has largely resembled a tennis player facing a faulty ball launcher, woefully outnumbered by small fluorescent spheres of death, simply trying to survive each fuzzy yellow problem as it makes contact with some soon to be bruised part of their body.
Many people have told me that baby steps are the way to go when faced with something as huge and daunting as buying and moving into your first house. It’s impossible to unpack, learn how everything works, buy all the furniture, re-decorate, fix anything that’s broken, and enjoy your new space all at once. It’s a matter of facing one tennis ball at a time and trying not to panic.
This week’s blog post is a demonstration of the chaotic stream of consciousness that has been bouncing around the inside of my head over the last week and attempting to follow this very sound advice. As you’ll see from what follows, this has been achieved with varying levels of success. Please enjoy this short tour through the inner workings of my mind.
Maybe next week I’ll be able to string more than two sentences together and have a sofa to sit on. We can but hope.
That van does not look as large as I’d imagined it would. Surely all our stuff isn’t going to fit in there.
How the heck did the delivery bloke carry this mattress with one arm. He must be a mattress wizard.
What kind of idiot builds, dismantles, and moves a climbing wall?
Maybe it will all fit.
Why did my in-laws insist on encouraging Husband to read so much as a child? Couldn’t he just watch TV like a real millennial?
I need a cup of tea.
I love tea.
I really should get a hobby that requires less stuff. Sewing is stupid.
OK, it’s going to fit.
It fits.
The door closes.
Sleep time.
I sure hope nobody steals the van containing all our worldly possessions from the drive in the middle of the night. Although that would save us the bother of unpacking it all.
Sleep time.
I need a cup of tea.
I love tea.
To the south!
9:30am, time for BBC Radio Bruce.
Ah, the gentle comedy stylings of Kenny B.
Maybe I should go on Pop Master one day. Although it turns out I know nothing about pop music.
I’m hungry.
I love Greggs.
On the road again!
Oh good, the house was not a figment of my imagination.
We bought a building. An actual fucking building.
These books and sewing machines haven’t got any lighter.
Neighbours are talking to us already. How alarming.
No introvert brain, they’re just being friendly. They’re probably not machete wielding murderers.
Good, it all fits in the house.
I need a cup of tea.
I’ll unpack the kitchen first. Access to food and tea preparing equipment is important.
I love tea, even when it’s made with the horrific hard water sludge that is Cambridge tap water.
I’m hungry.
Good job the chippy isn’t far away.
I love chips.
Sleep.
What’s the dog doing in here? Oh, this door doesn’t shut properly and she wants to sleep on the extremely expensive mattress the people get to use but she, very unfairly, doesn’t. Typical.
Sleep.
At least we got a dog that doesn’t generally bark when she’s unhappy. That would be worse than an hour or so of gently annoyed squeaking and the neighbours would hate us more.
Sleep.
I need a cup of tea.
Unpacking the tea making device early was smart. Well done me.
I love tea.
Oh no, we’ve gone back to living in a house with one bathroom. Husband is in the shower. I’ve just finished an enormous cup of tea. Fuck.
Let’s take the dog for a big long walk and tire her out so she’ll make less of a fuss about the continued chaos for the rest of the day.
Trees are pretty colours. Autumnal and stuff.
I’m hungry.
Unpacking the toast making device early was smart. Well done me.
I love toast.
British Heart Foundation Furniture shops are the best shops. I have absolutely no use for this set of yellow and leopard print chairs but I should buy them immediately.
Would it be considered a breach of their human rights to make our guests sleep on this sofa bed? If I’m asking the question at all it’s probably not a good sign.
I want this bed. No Husband, not that bed.
I’m hungry.
I love Greggs.
Fine, we can have that bed if we can also have this sofabed and matching armchair. I know the pattern is a little on the granny chic side of things but we’ll get covers to protect them from the dog’s butt anywhere so what’s the problem?
I need a cup of tea.
I love tea.
Hooray, our friends and here. Hooray, they brought snacks.
Friends who are willing to sit on bouldering mats in the middle of moving boxes and help you build furniture are my favourite kinds of friends.
Better build a barricade so the dog stays downstairs tonight.
Sleep.
Hmm, so I can still hear the dog squeaking from downstairs. It’s not as loud or persistent this evening though so things must be improving.
Sleep.
I need a cup of tea.
I love tea.
I like this kitchen. Cambridge water is hateful chalky sludge but I still like this kitchen.
Time to give this bathroom cabinet a good cleaning. Is that rust, dirt, or just the reflection of my own face?
Wow, I've scrawped a lot of crap onto the floor. Better tidy it up.
Darn it, we forgot the hoover. (The plan was to take the spare one from Husband’s parent’s house but it got left in the cupboard) Are our hygiene standards low enough that we can last until Christmas with only a dinky handheld hoover?
Time to check out the Bar Hill News.
Oh, a book club, that could be a good way to meet the neighbours. I’ll just drop them a quick email.
I’m hungry.
Our massive fridge appears to be empty.
To Tesco!
This Tesco is huge! Where is the food?
I’m hungry.
I love cheese.
Time to unpack some boxes.
I appear to have joined the village book club. That was an impulsive and hopefully sensible decision.
Time to unpack some more boxes.
How would Marie Kondo arrange this wardrobe? Well to start with, she’d probably call it a closet.
Husband hardly has any clothes. I have so many clothes.
I’m hungry.
I love pie.
I’m very excited to get a non-bouldering pad shaped sofa.
Time to unpack some more boxes. Bored of unpacking boxes.
Sleep.
Monday
I need a cup of tea.
I love tea.
Hard water still tastes like sadness compared to joyful Cumbrian water.
I’m excited to get the internet and a bed today. It’s like Christmas.
Ooooh the sun’s come out. That’s nice.
Time to wave Husband off at the bus stop and explore the area with the doggo.
Ha, Lolworth. That’s a funny name for a village.
Lolworth is cute. Ha, Lolworth.
Trees are pretty colours.
Time to unpack some more boxes.
I’m hungry.
I love cheese.
I should probably buy some fruit and vegetables.
Time to unpack some more boxes.
Hey, it’s Mark from Virgin Media. Hi Mark.
That’s an enormous drill bit you’ve got there Mark. Whatchya going to do with that?
My house, he’s drilling a hole in my house with the biggest drill bit I’ve ever seen.
That’s alarming.
I need a cup of tea.
Darn it, I made Mark a cup of tea with the last teabag in the house.
I miss tea.
Oh good, the bed is here.
Oh good, Husband is here, he can help me build the bed.
Oh good, two more people from Virgin Media are here. Wait, is that good?
Everything alright Mark? I’m not sure what that means but please can we have the internet now?
Sorry lads, I’d offer you tea but Mark had the last teabag.
Ah, the joys of flatpack furniture.
I wonder how many allen keys there are in the world.
Ow, my finger. Pay attention to the flatpack JoJo or it will bite you.
What’s that Mark? Oh, good the internet works.
Bye bye Virgin Media people and thank you for your service!
Hey, it looks like a bed. It even holds up a mattress and two humans like a bed.
Ah, ah, ah, no dogs though.
I’m hungry.
I love non-meat sausages that taste a bit like meat.
Time to unpack some more boxes.
Night night doggo, have a good snooze.
Sleep.
Maybe we should repaint the bedroom. We can do that now because it’s our house.
Our house.
Sleep.