We are once again moving, hopefully to a new place in Wimbledon by this weekend. I don’t even want to go into the amount of stress, anxiety, anger and delirium that both Thuy and I went through to get this place. We’re still slightly disbelieving until we actually walk into this house, plant our stuff down and then nail boards to the door of the house so that no land lord can Ever EVER drag us out!
The house it self is wonderfully located next to all the shops I like to shop at (I have on my big cheesy grin right now). It’s also close to a park where I can do my fitness thing AND close to Al forno, our favorite pasta place here in London. But it’s no place like home. As in home home.
I guess I might be a little bit more sick of the whole moving thing simply because I have made 4 moves in the last 6 months. First from Australia to a temporary 1 week stay with friends, then to Richmond, then to Birmingham (which I’m still half living at) and now Wimbledon. I hope this will be my last before I return back to Australia. I’m thinking I wont be so lucky.
I was flicking through FB the other day and saw photos of my friends partying it up at my home back in oz. I wanted to cry. There was my kitchen, small and neat and oh! my backyard patio with the 6 burner BBQ, and the brown sofa that I had got for so cheap at an auction, the amount of space! God. Even the bloody carpet bought tears to my eyes. And the people in the photos? Well forget the people, they could never shelter you the way a house can.
Anyway, the point is - I used to just miss everyone back home but now I miss everyone back home PLUS the bloody house too. Moving houses just exacerbates it all.
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