"HEEEEERREEE'S TERRRRY!" Well, it happened, folks: and no, I don't mean we went to another Halloween party, dressed as characters from The Shining. I mean Terry finally did what he's been threatening to do since the day we moved into this house, and knocked down the wall between the kitchen and the living room. This was my kitchen wall at around 6pm on Tuesday evening:
Tomorrow is the three month anniversary of the day we moved into our new house (Yes, we're still referring to it as a "new" house), so I figured that would be as good an excuse as any for me to post a bunch of photos of wind turbines. Well, everyone loves a good wind turbine, don't they? I HOPE you do, anyway, because I photograph these bad boys at least three times per week (Disclaimer: Terry took the top three photos, because it was very early in the morning, and I don't "do" early in the morning. Or just "morning" in general, really.), so you should probably prepare to see a lot of them from here on out. So, three month you guys! That's, like, ONE QUARTER OF A YEAR. And it's strange, because on the one hand I feel like we've been here forever now, but on the other, it's like we just moved in yesterday. It's fair to say that we're well and truly settled in at this point, but the house hasn't quite lost its delicious "newness" for us yet: I still get up in the mornings and think, "Wow, I actually OWN this place!", which is a nice feeling, especially after all of the near-misses we had when we were trying to buy it. (Speaking of which, I still check the property listings every so often, and the house of Nigel, International Man of Mystery is still on the market. That could so easily have been us, so we're super-grateful to be sitting here right now, taking endless photos of wind turbines, rather than still trying to keep our old house in perfect, "ready-to-be-viewed" condition at all times...) As for what we've done to the place, well, NOT MUCH would be the short answer to that one. Terry's done a lot of work to the garden, most of which is of the "strictly temporary" variety, with the main aim of creating a non-muddy area for Rubin to use until we get round to properly developing it. Most of what he's done so far has been achieved using the various bits of decking and concrete left behind by the previous owner, and what we could beg or borrow from friends... Like I say, it's all temporary, but it definitely looks a whole lot better than it did when we moved in, which is particularly amazing when you consider the fact that this is basically just a glorified toilet for Rubin:
When I blogged about not having anything to blog about earlier this week, some of you were kind enough to say that you're willing to tolerate posts about the Less Than Interesting stuff which is basically all that ever happens around here at the moment. This post is your fault. Nah, I'm just joking. See, the thing is, I've always kept journals. I got my first diary when I was ten, and each new year after that was marked by the opening of a brand new journal, in which I would meticulously document every tedious detail of my life, just in case I became famous one day and my biographers needed some info on what I had for lunch on the 16th of January, 1994, or something equally important. When I started this blog, I stopped keeping journals. There just didn't seem to be much point, when the blog was there to serve as the record of my life instead. But then, as I mentioned in my previous post, somewhere along the line the blog stopped being about my life, and so all of those little details were lost to the mists of time. What will my biographers do NOW, I wonder? Well, today I'm here to help them along, because in an bid to re-introduce some of the more personal/boring stuff to this blog, here is a novel-length post about my garden. You're welcome.
[Dress and boots: both Zara, circa 2011 // Jacket: La Redoute, 2012 // Giant snow heart: c/o Terry]
So, our house is probably going on the market soon. I'm not sure quite how soon, but ... soon. Too soon for my liking, because folks? I am FREAKING THE HELL OUT right now. Like, lying awake at night worrying, and waking up thinking, "OMG, WHAT ARE WE DOING?" - that kind of freaking out. It's no fun at all, let me tell you.Oh, don't get me wrong: I want to move. I've wanted to move for years now. I've said it so many times it really doesn't need to be repeated, but I'm going to do it anyway: this house is small. And cramped. And just generally uncomfortable, in lots of different ways, really. When we bought it, we saw it very much as a "starter home" - we assumed it would be a decent first step on the property ladder, and that we'd only live in it for a couple of years before moving on. Onwards and upwards. We didn't anticipate that Terry would need a kidney transplant, of course. Or that we'd both end up leaving our well-paid jobs and starting our own business because of it. But that was what happened: Terry's diagnosis came almost exactly a year after we bought the place, and after that, moving home was the last thing we wanted to think about. Now we're not just thinking about it: we're on the brink of actually DOING IT, and as I said I want to move. I'm excited about the big life change we possibly have ahead of us. I'm downright delirious at the prospect of having some much-needed space. I'm looking forward to having our friends over, and not feeling like I have to constantly apologise for the house, or have them all spend the evening rotating in and out of different rooms because if we all tried to sit in the living room we'd probably set a new world record. I'm ready for this. It's time. But.