Thursday 24 December 2009
Friday 18 December 2009
Homeless
My old buddy Liam, off getting married in South Africa right now, had quite a humorous schtick back in the day, where he was wont to utter cliched 'dadisms' with a deadpan, ironic inflection. One of which "You live and learn" I have somewhat taken up the baton of dispensing myself from time time, only, I increasingly wonder at the not-so-tender age of (gasp) 32 when the actual learning starts to kick in.
My last adventure into flatsharing, trumpeted in a somewhat subdued fashion on my last blog didn't really work out, which seems like a foregone conclusion now I think about it. I was sharing with a couple of young whippersnappers, running around doing the kind of things I did ten plus years ago (and more besides, snowdrifts of the stuff) which simultaneously kept me awake and made me feel methusala-like in my advancing years. So after not even three months, I upped and left. I won't really go into the details of exactly why this sharp exit seemed so imperative, but if I said I considered wording the ad I placed on Gumtree for my incoming replacement thus: "this room would suit a hybrid of Kim and/or Aggy from How Clean is Your Home and the entire cast of Skins" you'll possibly start to get my drift.
Anyway. The upshot of this has been that I've ended up homeless, though luckily not in the sense of me being the guy in the shiny-with-dirt jacket speaking in tongues who you studiously ignore on the number 12 bus, so much as I haven't got anywhere to plug in my big shiney iMac til the 27th (possibly more annoying, I know). So I'm currently living out of a bag in assorted people's spare rooms – luckily a commodity more freely available when a lot of your friends have a mortgage.
This simultaneously sounds quite romantic, and is a massive pain in the arse. Depending on how you pitch it, I could be like the protagonist Hiro (erm) Protagonist in Neal Stevenson's Snowcrash – y'know, living in a garage, with a near zenlike absence of posessions (bar samurai swords and a laptop which allows me to frolic round cyberspace) or I could be a sort of peripatetic couchsurfing bum, who probably should know better.
Anyway, I'm kind of enjoying living with friends, who have all been pretty fucking great, so home or no home, it's been a pretty cosy Christmas thus far, living with people who, by and large, feel like extended family to me. It's no understatement to say, I've felt vastly more at home in spare rooms, the last week or so, than I did in my own room for the preceeding 12. As I type this I'm sat on my temporary bed, listening to Quasimoto on my housemate Julia's shared iTunes library, piped down from upstairs. Pretty cool huh?.
Moving though, what a bitch! And I've got to do it all over again between Christmas and New Year's...
My last adventure into flatsharing, trumpeted in a somewhat subdued fashion on my last blog didn't really work out, which seems like a foregone conclusion now I think about it. I was sharing with a couple of young whippersnappers, running around doing the kind of things I did ten plus years ago (and more besides, snowdrifts of the stuff) which simultaneously kept me awake and made me feel methusala-like in my advancing years. So after not even three months, I upped and left. I won't really go into the details of exactly why this sharp exit seemed so imperative, but if I said I considered wording the ad I placed on Gumtree for my incoming replacement thus: "this room would suit a hybrid of Kim and/or Aggy from How Clean is Your Home and the entire cast of Skins" you'll possibly start to get my drift.
Anyway. The upshot of this has been that I've ended up homeless, though luckily not in the sense of me being the guy in the shiny-with-dirt jacket speaking in tongues who you studiously ignore on the number 12 bus, so much as I haven't got anywhere to plug in my big shiney iMac til the 27th (possibly more annoying, I know). So I'm currently living out of a bag in assorted people's spare rooms – luckily a commodity more freely available when a lot of your friends have a mortgage.
This simultaneously sounds quite romantic, and is a massive pain in the arse. Depending on how you pitch it, I could be like the protagonist Hiro (erm) Protagonist in Neal Stevenson's Snowcrash – y'know, living in a garage, with a near zenlike absence of posessions (bar samurai swords and a laptop which allows me to frolic round cyberspace) or I could be a sort of peripatetic couchsurfing bum, who probably should know better.
Anyway, I'm kind of enjoying living with friends, who have all been pretty fucking great, so home or no home, it's been a pretty cosy Christmas thus far, living with people who, by and large, feel like extended family to me. It's no understatement to say, I've felt vastly more at home in spare rooms, the last week or so, than I did in my own room for the preceeding 12. As I type this I'm sat on my temporary bed, listening to Quasimoto on my housemate Julia's shared iTunes library, piped down from upstairs. Pretty cool huh?.
Moving though, what a bitch! And I've got to do it all over again between Christmas and New Year's...
Monday 30 November 2009
Monday 16 November 2009
Monday 9 November 2009
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