on the move

We’re moving. Again. Since getting married we have lived in a ridiculous number of different homes. Are you ready?

1. Gorgeous flat in Dorset for 4 weeks whilst trying to decide whether we were going to take the leap and move to London. 

2. Hideous shared house for 4 weeks whilst looking for a rental in London having chosen. 

3. Lovely but teeny studio flat in Woodside park. 

4. Lovely but teeny studio flat with a bathroom, next door to previous flat in same building.

5. Bigger one bed flat above the North Circular and with drug dealers living downstairs.

6. Lodged at friends in their top floor for 2 months whilst we waited for our new flat to become available after an unfortunate delay with landlady.

7. Our current flat, lovely decor and location in Whetstone and a good deal but still flippin expensive and impossible to afford on 1 salary. 

So we’re moving out of property number 7 next Thursday and we don’t know where we’re going to live next. Hubs has an interview on Saturday for a job down south so hopefully he’ll get it and we can relocate back to Dorset and live in flat number 1 again. 

Flat number 1 is owned by my super amazing friend Becci and her husband who have left it tenantless for a month until we know what we’re doing. Uber generous or what?! I really want to move back nearer my family. Having been through quite a traumatic year I’m ready for a rest. I’ve handed in my notice at work and am all set for a year out. However if hubs doesn’t get the job we’ll be staying in London and flat hunting...again. Groan. At least we get to stay in number 6 again.

I want to know where we’re going to be come next month. I want to imagine life with my toddler and know what friends we’re going to have and which hospital we’ll frequent. I just want to know either way. Until we do I just can’t think about anything passed the end of each week. I’m feeling all unsettled.