Packing boxes from hell

I am currently sitting on the pillow sized bit of my bed that is not covered in stuff. Apparently I own four backpacks even though I have never knowingly purchased one. I also have precisely eight pairs of running shoes, EIGHT. I have not been to the gym this year, and the last time I ran was to get the last filled croissant at White Mullberries. This surprising amount of stuff has colonised my bed because I am moving flats this week, I am moving into my own place for the very first time.

I know that back home most of my friends are contemplating buying their own house right about now, but living in London makes the thought of saving for a deposit laughable. So instead I am beyond excited to be renting my very own studio apartment. Not having to be considerate about using the washing machine, making smoothies at 7am or freaking out someone with the size of my morning hair; its the dream. Since moving to London I have only lived with one other person, big flats were never going to be my thing. And the ‘one persons’ that I have lived with worked really well. Four years, two people and 0 arguments. Not even a tiff.

But I just have reached a point where I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to live with a flatmate. I am meant to be a fucking adult, and I can’t make the breakfast that I want because I am worried about waking up my flatmate. I just want to live entirely on my terms, and living by myself is the key.

I also don’t really like my current flat. When we moved in I thought it was everything we were looking for, but in the last 14 months I have never felt good vibes here. The hocus pocus side of me wonders if the building used to be a workhouse or Jack the Ripper once lived here. But in reality I think me not loving living here is because it is a basement flat with no light and a dank smell that no amount of Anthropologie candles can get rid of.  Also my flatmate at the moment has a lot of furniture, art and knick knacks so all of the flat apart from my bedroom doesn’t feel like mine. Other things I am not going to miss about my current flat?

  • The boiler being in my room that hums loudly every single time water is used
  • The light switch in my room being hidden behind a wardrobe so I ruin my nail polish at least once a week
  • That basement smell (I know I already mentioned it, but I just hate it that much)
  • My ‘view’ being a brick wall
  • Mold waging war on in bedroom
  • Having a bathroom with no windows and no fan
  • Having a lounge that gets no natural light and lighbulbs that blow once a month

Hidden light switch behind a wardrobe

I am pretty sure you are all wondering how affordable living by yourself in London is. Its not, not at all. But I have pretty much taken anything close to a travel budget and am spending it on the flat that will make me happy. I travel so much for work anyway that the thought of getting on a plane to go on holiday is abhorrent. Seriously, all I want to do is take annual leave to have lazy days in London. It is a pretty cool city after all.

So I am packing. I hate packing. I seem to have a personality where I am 100% ok making big decisions (ah la deciding to move to London over brunch), but anticipation absolutely ruins me. Having four more days to anticipate all of the different things that could go right or wrong in the move is simply exhausting. If I could move tomorrow in a whirlwind I would be a happy camper. To get through the next four days I will complain to anyone that will listen and procrastinate packing by watching Firefly and Gilmore Girls to my hearts content. And before I know it I will be nesting in my new flat. It will be all mine.

Yes this blog post is me procrastinating those dreaded brown boxes. Sigh, I should get back to it. I can’t even tell you how happy I am to be moving, and to have the chance to create my own space (I have already ordered a pillow with my three favourite swearwords on it). I will keep you posted!