This week I gave notice at my flat and at the end of the month I will be moving home, back in with my parents.
Considering I am closer to 30 than 25, and currently living with my boyfriend (P), this was not an easy decision to make. Even as I sent the email P asked me: “Are we crazy?”
We’re not – we’re being sensible. Having the good fortune to both have parents who live in London and would happily welcome us home we’ve decided to do it to save money.
We intend to travel Asia and then return home to our families once again to continue saving money to go towards a mortgage.
In many ways it feels like a regression and a huge sacrifice, but every time I hear my neighbours chatting, playing music, or other things I’d really rather not hear, all I want is my own home that isn’t boxed into flats with no sound insulation.
I have loved our first home, but when I try to open the windows in this heat and they only open a crack – we’re on the ground floor so burglary is a risk – I dream of replacement sash windows.*
Wikipedia defines them as being “made of one or more movable panels, or ‘sashes’, that form a frame to hold panes of glass, which are often separated from other panes by glazing bars”.
Sliding slash windows give a home so much more character and life than any other window; not that I am an expert in windows.
There is no denying that they add a lovely little bit of quintessential English style, especially when they’re made up of one simple pane of glass for each panel.
I miss the glorious feeling of sliding them up and letting in light and air – at least I will be able to do this at home with my parents in the meantime, while I desperately save for my own home.
My biggest dream in all the world is to own a detached house – definitely showing my age, I know, but everywhere I have ever lived independently, noise from neighbours has been an issue.
Living in London means a detached home is definitely not in the foreseeable future, if at all, but while I’m on the subject of dream homes it simply has to have a stoop.
That desire has got nothing to do with Carrie in Sex and the City, but it reminds me of my first university home.
It had steps leading up to it from the front garden and the door led directly into the open plan living room and kitchen. In the summer we would sit on the stoop in the sun and read, with the door wide open to catch conversations with each other as we moved around the house. I idealise those summer days (before or after exam stress imprisoned us in the dim, dank libraries).
Anyway, whatever I end up with as my first home I hope giving up our lovely flat and moving home for as long as it takes us to save proves worthwhile… I’m sure when the day comes we’ll be glad we did it.