You must see this. It’s nifty. I can’t stop sitting here with an insane grin on my face. Mad. And so very cute.
I found my perfect area. Small town, lots of pubs, on the river, good bus service, some gorgeous little independent jewellery shops, clean, not too many common folk. That makes me sound posh. I’m not. I’m just getting more refined in my old age. Oh what the heck. I’m getting snobby. But the people seemed interesting, as though they had many different stories to tell. Lives had been led. Not like here in this village where everybody has the same story to tell and the same mundane life to lead.
Now we just need to find a house / flat to rent. How hard can that be?
Moving in with someone has never seemed so exciting. It’s like living in an Enid Blyton work of fiction and having an adventure. Perhaps it’s because this time I know that I really want it. In the past I’ve lived with boyfriends purely due to circumstance. My year of living with The Cheater was determined by being kicked out of student accommodation by an imbecilic landlord who didn’t like the fact that myself and my friends had complained to the Environmental Health People about the standards he deemed fit for cohabitation. The three years I spent living with Mr Abuser were determined by him wanting control and me being open to suggestion and the need for an easy life with no arguments. Plus he upset someone up in Sunderland so we moved down South. I was a fool. But this time I feel as though I’m in control. And it’s scrummy. Very scrummy.
Easter was relaxing. Sleep, sex, cinema [Shaun of the Dead … a must see – almost every actor from every current [cult] English comedy is in it], a DVD [LoveActually … no, I am unable to resist the temptation of fantasizing about Alan and bemoaning the fact that Hugh really should be our Prime Minister], Brie toasties, Vodka, chocolate [complete with Cadbury’s Buttons [Mmmm…] and a toy Tigger. How old does The Mother think I am? Five?], and the playing of music [REM, Blondie, Iggy Pop] in the car.
And now my bladder requires a wee and my stuffed belly desires dreams.
Nighty Night xxx Elsabeth