This past weekend I went to my friend Emily's house for a sleepover with a few other friends. Yes you read that correctly, a sleepover. We went out for dinner, came home and spent the rest of the night talking, drinking bellinis and laughing like nobody's business about silly things we've done.
After all the giggling subsided, we fell asleep at around 4am.
Emily lives in St Albans, a place not far outside of London yet far enough to definitely not be near the city. She has just moved in with her boyfriend who owns the house, but she moved in soon enough after he bought it to have input on the painting and decorating. Most convenient for her!
When I woke up on Sunday morning (or more correctly was woken up by Sarah, my early-rising, addicted to her blackberry, lawyer-friend with far too much energy, clicking out an email to some client or other) I wandered downstairs in my pyjamas looking for tea. I sat on Emily's sofa, watching rubbish TV and munching on a bacon sandwich and I just felt so ridiculously happy! And then I realised why, it was because I was in someone's home.
I love living with friends, but five people living in a three bed flat with all of us knowing that we're only here temporarily makes it all feel a little... temporary. None of us own our own furniture, we don't own the flat so we can't fix things like the weak heating or the rubbish shower. And we're all biding our time and making do until we can move on to something better. It feels an awful lot like squatting sometimes and it doesn't quite feel right.
So to relax in someone's home on a sofa that is clean and new, with freshly painted walls and every inch decorated with love and care, it felt very... right.
Adam and I need to move into a place we can make our own, even if we don't own it. We need to find a flat that we can give some love an attention and make it part of who we are. Bring on spring time! Spring time is moving time and I absolutely cannot wait.