i wanna come home

Just as I thought that I was coping really well. It’s lovely living with bro. Ever since I was a very young girl we have been carbon copies of each other. Years ago we were pretty much inseparable and even went through a stage of wanting to be his and her rozzers on the beat when we grew up. Course then we grew up and didn’t want that at all. He’s always been my big brother who knows best and is my first port of call whenever I need anything big brother like. He taught me how to stand up for myself (we are both red heads), how to be naughty, how to play cards, how to do DIY, he kicked off my tool kit and other boy-like things. It’s because of him that I know no fear when holding a hammer, although I’m a bit of a pansy with a drill. Yes, we all know I’m a Tom Boy and now we know why. Big bro plus 3 others for anyone counting!

So similar and yet at times I look at him and wonder just how we can be related. He’s calm, he thinks before he speaks, he’s not loud (without an audience), he’s messy, he has a habit of leaving all doors open, even wardrobe and cupboard doors, you can’t sit on his couch because it’s covered in cushions and he watches the worst telly in the world, shopping channels, Pretty Woman and the like. Yikes. And to think that he used to be the hardest man that he knows………something that he used to say and that I will never let him forget. He buys things compulsively and then leaves them stacked up in piles unused. He’s only got 2 quirks that I know of (which is obviously much less than me): hall landing light remains on at all times and sofa cushions must be plumped up at night. Plus, obviously, I have to get off the computer when he wants to get on it.

So here I am living a life in limbo with no complaints. Well, none about actually living here. But the journey to and from work is absolute hell at times. Most of the time the Piccadilly line is fine but when it’s not it’s awful. My route to work takes me the same route as passengers who have got off long haul flights to Heathrow Airport. It’s a right old mixture of complaints. Lots of knuckle cracking which makes me feel ill. Lots of people who fart. Really stinky, repugnant farts. There’s yer tiny Indian men who sit there serenely calm until all of a sudden they throw their arms and legs out to have a good old stretch, yeah I’ve nearly been punched several times. There’s lots of Americans who crouch down to look out of the windows no matter how crammed the train. Little brats who want to show the whole carriage how clever they are by pronouncing Osterley, Boston Manor, Acton town……..you get me? Of course the New Yorkers are the worst with their non stop monotone Manhattan drone about the delights of the Piccadilly line and the crowded trains. Back packs and luggage everywhere. People who have not washed in days. The way home is worse with cancelled trains, trains sitting in stations and in between stations for ages. Somehow they are always really hot, stuffy and they stink! And this is with washed people on the WAY to the Airport. And then I have to face the Hammersmith and Shitty line. Again it’s fine at times but when it’s not its hellish. Regular travellers are so used to moaning that the least delay leads to huffing and puffing which makes everything ten times worse. I just stick my head in a book and try to ignore the lot of em, only occasionally have I found the need to be extremely rude.

Bro’s great. Even though I’ve turned his house up-side-down, it’s no sweat to him. He’s been great and I’m trying to be no bother and a minimal disruption to his life. It’s great here and I’ve even got used to the planes, although my ear plugs have a terrible habit of falling out during the night. Sometimes it’s fun watching them take off and land above my head, taxi-ing and circling and spotting the changes in the flight patterns. Well, find your fun where you can eh. There’s also loads of starlings on the roof and they make the most amazing calls which I had never heard close up before. The only bad thing about living around here is that’s there’s nowhere to run. No one seems to jog so joggers are a morbid curiosity to dogs in parks and I’ve run out of 3 now, scared for my life.

So just as I thought that I was coping really well I went to see Perry at the weekend and as there were people staying in MY room and I hadn’t been out for weeks and I was trying to fit 2 or 3 weeks of fun into 1 night, I totally shamed myself by going to lie down on his bed for a minute as I didn’t feel well, only to resurface at 10am the next day. I didn’t do anything shameful other than conk out and steal his bed forcing him onto the sofa and I made up for these short falls with helping him with kitchen improvements on the Saturday. After 5 or 6 hours of home improvements I found myself thinking that it would be lovely to have a bath. I was totally shocked when I realised that the bath that I was imagining was my old avocado coloured bath. It was the first and so far the only time that I missed my old gaff. I suppose that it had something to do with me going past it on a bus the night before and seeing a man on a ladder re-painting the funny room white. During my 10 years there, there was never a man on a ladder painting. It was odd to see, knowing that I couldn’t barge in there saying “not like that, like this”.

Still, my mortgage on my dream flat has been approved, my mortgage survey is tomorrow and my independent survey was done today. The Estate Agent has twice mentioned the possibility of the seller moving into rented accommodation. Fingers crossed that it’s not just ‘Estate Agent’ speak. If I was in before Christmas I would be so happy. Everyone say yeah!!