Boxes. My life is currently made of boxes. To my left there are boxes, to my right there are boxes and, to contain the remaining debris of my flat I need yet more boxes. Luckily, the bloke in the corner shop at the end of my road is very understanding about me sticking my head round the door, smiling sweetly and asking if he's had any more deliveries so I can nab his boxes. See, from those sentences alone, you're beginning to get a vague impression of the sheer box-ness of my life right now.
I'd forgotten quite what a pain in the arse moving is. I'm very glad I allowed a few weeks to get everything sorted because I have no idea how I'd have managed it in a day. I discovered an incredibly useful site, I am Moving that lets you fill in your details and mass mail utility companies. But even with their help, I still found myself writing out ten envelopes to different utility companies today. And combining moving with tax return season isn't the most intelligent move I ever made (though mainly because it involves me watching my bank account drain of money absurdly rapidly - it's not been a lot of extra work thanks to my nice accountant who just takes my receipts and comes back with a neatly ordered folder, filled in tax return and a bill. Which is well worth the lack of hassle.)
On the plus side, I have managed to pack up te bulk of my belongings, and, in doing so, got a fairly accurate representation of the priorities in my life: clothes - three carrier bags; shoes - one carrier bag; beauty products - two carrier bags (baths are one of my favourite forms of stress relief); sex toys - 3 boxes* (insert obvious gag about my other preferred form of stress relief here); glasses - 4 boxes; and books - 25 boxes. So, drinking and reading would appear to be my main preoccupations. And I got rid of three bin-bags worth of books, to whittle it down to only 25 boxes. I suspect moving to the seaside and having easy access to lots of wholesome and outdoory things will be very good for me. Though I imagine I'll acquire even more books to read on the beach.
I'm getting incredibly excited about moving to my new place. I took the first load of stuff down there last weekend with a friend, so I now have a bed and, unsurprisingly, a lot of books, already installed there, making it habitable enough for me to stay the night there now. Later this week, I get the fridge and washing machine (feels very grown up buying my own white goods - every other time I've had a place they've been included with the rental. This place is unfurnished which means I'm not having to put up with someone else's taste for the first time ever. And it also means that my bank account is getting further drained - at least mentally - with dreams of furniture. Luckily, Brighton is full of shops with gorgeous stuff for me to lust over) And this time next week, I get broadband installed, at which point it becomes officially 'home'.
It's strange being in limbo like this. I certainly don't feel at home in my London flat now, possibly because it's in no fit state to invite anyone round. I suspect it may feel more like home when the rest of my stuff has been taken to Brighton so that it can at least be tidy again. No matter how neatly stacked they are, boxes don't really lend ambience.
Anyway, only another two weeks to go and I'll be able to get up and see the sea, and have some semblance of normal life restoring. As is obviously going to happen, since I've been manic with 'life' stuff, work has picked up the pace again: on top of the usual Scarlet and Audible stuff, I've been approached to write a couple more books - one a sequel to a book I wrote last year, which is nice - and there are more exciting things bubbling away. It's going to be interesting to see whether being outside London makes a difference to work. I'm hoping that, as the bulk of my work is done over email, and given a good brief, meetings really aren't necessary, that it shouldn't have any negative effects. And, OK, I'll admit to daydreaming about getting a laptop and working on the wi-fi enabled beach (once the weather gets a bit better anyway)
Going to live by the seaside feels like planning a really long holiday. I hope the feeling lasts.
*I can't remember if I blogged it, but a while back I tried to get my vibrators insured, as I realised they were probably worth more than almost anything else I own. The bank refused because they were 'primarily for business use'. As such I needed to get business insurance. I've yet to call the business insurance number they gave me, for fear of laughing too much.
Posted by emilyd at January 18, 2006 09:19 PM