A little bit late…

Okay, I’m not going to lie to you. I haven’t touched my laptop in four days. So excuse me if my typing/spelling/coherence is a bit, okay, very sloppy but it has been something of a chore moving from the depth of Cumbria back to my home that is the North East and to the capital of culture that is Stockton-On-Tees. The only writing that I have been doing for the past week or so has been writing lists, filling out job seekers shit and housing benefit tomes and signing my life away on tenancy agreement forms. And so I’m suffering from withdrawal symptoms. My spelling and grammar is appalling! Let that be a warning to all you writers out there who are even considering not writing for a couple of days. Everything will suffer. I’ve wanted to throw myself down the stairs for fun and make a massive rice curry ball out of a plate of, yeah, rice and curry, because I haven’t written a poem since the 29th of January…

 

This moving malarkey is stressful as fuck. This is the first ‘proper house’ I’ve had. Feels weird saying that, but I do feel very, very adult. I also feel that I’ve handled the essential ‘tasks’ that have needed to be done with grace, good judgment and maturity. Like buying a bin for the bathroom, applying for housing benefit and spending close to fifty quid in Tesco on vegetables, pasta sauce and single bed sheets. I don’t want to tell you how much I’ve spent in Home Bargains, Heron and Wilkinson’s. Yes, all those ‘practical’ shops which become essential when we reach ‘that’ certain age where we go to three different shops to find the cheapest shower gel, Bombay mix and antibacterial cleaner for the kitchen. Of course, I still have essential things that I need to get but am putting off buying because I think that A: They might magically appear in the living room when I’m tucked up in bed. B: I might be able to get them free off Freecycle or C: My mum might call me up and announce that she’s won fifty quid on the lottery and she wants to spend it on furniture from YMCA for me. Things like a wardrobe, a hover, bookcases…you get the picture. If you’re reading this and have any dark wood furniture, or black, I’m not fussy, that you don’t want and you residing are in the North East, then, please, don’t hesitate to get in touch. I’ll take it off you. I make a mean Bread and Butter Pudding and I’d pay you with a dish of that. I might even throw in a tin of custard if you’re lucky. Only Tesco Value 9p stuff mind, can’t be pushing the boat too far out.

 

Unpacking is a bugger. I’ve been spending the past three days sorting through my books. Now, I have something like 1,000 of the little darlings and they are my first priority. Fuck the clothes and curtains. Books come first before everything else. Course, I haven’t been able to home them all yet, seen as though I only have, ahem, one bookcase. I’m hoping to move onto my CD’s and Black Metal band tops tomorrow, but the books will have to be totally seen too first before I can even make a move on the other little loves in my life.

 

Now, the house that I’m living in is fantastic, newly furnished, big, in a great area…there is only one, no, two problems. One, the shower is like, hmm, how best to describe this. Okay, imagine buying a watering can from Pound Land. Now imagine watering your roses or children with it or something. Okay, I guess you are imaging the pathetic ‘effect’ the ‘sprout’ would have, aren’t you. Right, now that is my shower. With hair past my waist you can imagine that I’m not best pleased with a shower doing a very bad impersonation of a watering can. Okay, the other problem. The washing machine is somewhat broke. And my clothes are trapped inside. The Estate Agents/Landlord people are convinced that the ‘brokenness’ is on our part, in that we’re too thick to operate the damn machine. The bastards won’t come out to fix it and have left us to figure it out. Right now, we’re still scratching our heads, not wanting to move the beast in fear of scratching the lino.

 

Don’t fret, I’m almost there. Despite the little ‘hiccups’ during the past few days, today has been MAGNIFICENT. First of all, I got the train (station five mins walk from the house) to Boro (£1.60 return. Six min journey. SCORE!) then waltzed around, printing off pictures of my beautiful boyfriend in Boots and buying picture frames and sewing needles, followed by a fabulous meeting with three of my favourite people/writers/teachers/poets of the week, Bob Beagrie, Andy Wiloughby and Chris Stewart about something that will be revealed in later blogs. Following that (I know, you’re thinking, how can her day possibly get any better. Needles, a meeting and a train journey from Stockton to Boro) a cherry scone and a meeting with a mate I went to college with when I was a walking skeleton. To finish off, a hot chocolate in MIMA and a read through of a class play that I’m going to be in. I knew that as soon as I would get back to the North East I’d feel invigorated, inspired and hugely motivated, not only with my writing and job searching for work in literature based arts, but with life in general. Today has provided me with a HUGE boost towards my self-esteem and I know that things will only get better and better and better!

Advertisements