Well not quite on heath. Although it's pretty bloody close. My life as a three week nomad is, for now, at an end. I've spent my weekdays being a fairly good daughter, and my extended weekends being an excellent drinking companion, amongst other things. Whilst I would like to detail some of the nonsense that occurred, I think it's best for everyone involved if I just don't. Safe to say though that it was documented to varying degrees in video, photo, written quotations and spray paint.
Moving house this time round was exceptionally traumatic - not least because my darling Sten and I went our separate ways (he buggered off to Morocco), but predominantly because I was now facing life in a room, in a house and I have a LOT of stuff. I'm used to a one bed with a second room and storage space; I was now looking at finding somewhere for an extensive wardrobe (two actually) three suitcases of shoes, an unused exercise ball and three ukeleles. I couldn't possibly list the rest of the stuff for fear of both boring you and being unable to stem the rising panic that happens when I think about my various possessions that are still scattered across North London.
On the day of the move I was so overwhelmed that sometime in the evening I decided to shower in the newly cleaned bathroom, repaint my nails, visit my work place to donate an excess of candles and lastly, in despair, drink. The drinking helped the most. I also kicked the exercise ball down the road until a fourth floor acquaintance claimed it - it eventually reached him after several valiant attempts.
The excess of material goods wasn't my only problem; for some reason I had neglected to plan my next move and so made myself wilfully homeless. I was also fussy. I needed a top floor with good windows - roof access was also very important. It had to be a period building and it had to be in Kentish Town. Incidentally in my wisdom I told myself that as I have not yet been discovered as an actual princess, I would compromise on the roof thing and accept Hampstead Heath as my personal outdoor space - this decision was softened by the fact that my new flat has a six month old puppy in situ! Ringo is half pug, half Maltese terrier and he's bloody cute. More to come on this front - I'm told he has a dressing gown so I expect you'll all wait with baited breath for the inevitable Rocky/ Hugh Hefner photos.