I just moved house. My house has that new house smell. Actually, it doesn’t if I’m honest, because this house is beautifully old and wonderfully dilapidated. It’s a victorian terrace with all the quirks, nooks and crannies that I have ever hoped for in a home.
I don’t like new houses. They’re too…square. I love places like this, where the floors are stained honey brown and worn from decades of footsteps; where the walls blister and bubble in odd curves and strange shapes; where the cracks make the house feel like a defiant old women. The Dowager Countess of Grantham who is stuck in her ways and her own style who isn’t the least but interested in your new fangled modern nonsense, thank you very much!
There’s also a cupboard dedicated to baking and booze, which has become my shrine to gin and sugar.
It’s safe to say I’ve fallen for this house. I’m sitting serenely at my scrubbed oak table under the unashamedly girly bunting on a white-painted chair and thinking that I can, almost, very nearly ignore my neighbours….just about. Ok, so all is not quite dreamy, but more of those ogres at the end as I’d like to post beautiful pictures of my favourite corners of my new hideaway first, along with the songs that remind me of moving house and finding that little space that’s all your own…well, mine and the two-ton-tessa who lives above me.
Ah the neighbours. Why is it a prerequisite in London to hate your neighbours? My first night they welcomed me with an all night sprint competition up and down the hard wood floors followed by a sport of olympic-worthy trampolining on the ceiling above my head.
I have put them into three sections. There’s Mr Stampy, or Mr Tosser, depending on my mood. Now, he’s a tiny Brazilian with a Napoleon complex and a nose like a dorito who enjoys wearing hard-soled shoes and stamping around his domain, long walks down the hall and has a great sense of humour, if your idea of a jolly good laugh is to burp really loudly and with surprising frequency.
There’s mumbles, who seems to follow Stampy around apologetically and who tries to be quiet but ends up making more noise by dropping things and/or joining in with Stampers Magee.
The third is a new addition. I call her Madame le Squeal. I can never exactly make out what she is saying but the way she drawls and camps it up it sounds like every sentence she utters is a double entendre (in your entendre). She is fond of loud exhalations of high-pitched excitement and is just THRILLED to be living with her new besties.
They all seem to work varying hours that span 11am to 6am and have set up a pretty effective watch sentry-style schedule, taking it in turns to alternate sleep with stamping.
If anyone has any decent suggestions for asking someone to modify their walk without sounding like a) a bitch or b) a bitch who cares what other people think it would be most appreciated!