London calling - The end of an era
As Flat-Mate gets ready to move on, Joe Fountain gets a bit sentimental
Last night, Flat-Mate and I were out at Randall & Aubin in Soho, guzzling down glasses of champagne together with oysters and posh fish and chips. It's something we used to do quite regularly, but the chaos of the last few months had made it impossible. This one was a bit of a special one: We were out to celebrate - although celebrate is not really the right word here - our last week together. Tomorrow, she leaves, heading to a new place in Pimlico (which is only 20 minutes away by tube, and on my way to work, so I can still drop in and visit every now and again). With Significant Other off in Barcelona on a job for three weeks, it's going to feel strange being here alone again!
Predictably - after all, we have been living together for the last four years - as the champagne bubbles made their way to our brains, things got a bit sentimental. We reminisced about the night we decided to go for it together moving into the most fantastic flat, only to be thrown out of it six months later when the evil money-grabbing landlady decided to sell it off. From there it was down into the basement of an ex-police station, which I was never very comfortable with. It was there - as some of you might remember - that we got burgled, an incident which triggered the second move, which led us to this flat, where I will be staying on together with SO. (It'll be a long time before I leave this apartment, unless, of course, the landlords decide to double the rent or something like that!)
Over the last four years, FM and myself have been father, mother, brother, sister, best friend - you name it - to each other. At times it felt a bit too much like an episode of Will and Grace for my liking, but we had fun. Lots of it. Anyone who has been to stay with us - and many did - can testify to that.
Now, the corridor is full of her immaculately packed boxes - the contents of which I have seen her meticulously dust one by one in her customary way (believe me folks, this girl does not do dust!) waiting to be picked up and driven to the new abode. I feel a bit sad in the way I imagine the father of the bride would on her wedding day. Of course I'm happy that she's going to move on and start a new life, at the same time I'm a bit sad that these last four years have come to an end.
And yet, there is still the sofa issue to resolve. If it doesn't make it through the door (and there is a possibility that it won't since apparently it was a nightmare to bring in), I have offered to buy it off her. And believe me, I'm - very selfishly - praying that it won't. The idea of going out to buy a replacement - this time with SO, who is not the easiest of shoppers - fills me with dread. Although, coming to think of it, I could just take the easy way out and buy one exactly like it.
God, I'm slow sometimes!
Predictably - after all, we have been living together for the last four years - as the champagne bubbles made their way to our brains, things got a bit sentimental. We reminisced about the night we decided to go for it together moving into the most fantastic flat, only to be thrown out of it six months later when the evil money-grabbing landlady decided to sell it off. From there it was down into the basement of an ex-police station, which I was never very comfortable with. It was there - as some of you might remember - that we got burgled, an incident which triggered the second move, which led us to this flat, where I will be staying on together with SO. (It'll be a long time before I leave this apartment, unless, of course, the landlords decide to double the rent or something like that!)
Over the last four years, FM and myself have been father, mother, brother, sister, best friend - you name it - to each other. At times it felt a bit too much like an episode of Will and Grace for my liking, but we had fun. Lots of it. Anyone who has been to stay with us - and many did - can testify to that.
Now, the corridor is full of her immaculately packed boxes - the contents of which I have seen her meticulously dust one by one in her customary way (believe me folks, this girl does not do dust!) waiting to be picked up and driven to the new abode. I feel a bit sad in the way I imagine the father of the bride would on her wedding day. Of course I'm happy that she's going to move on and start a new life, at the same time I'm a bit sad that these last four years have come to an end.
And yet, there is still the sofa issue to resolve. If it doesn't make it through the door (and there is a possibility that it won't since apparently it was a nightmare to bring in), I have offered to buy it off her. And believe me, I'm - very selfishly - praying that it won't. The idea of going out to buy a replacement - this time with SO, who is not the easiest of shoppers - fills me with dread. Although, coming to think of it, I could just take the easy way out and buy one exactly like it.
God, I'm slow sometimes!