and a garden terrace

So I've moved into my new place of...lieu.

Me, an Ozzie bird and two Brit guys. Digs-style, in Clapham. Juxtaposed next to a council estate, but other than the random 'Nice one bruvva!' screams filtering from the block, all is pretty quiet.

This is world's apart from my Joburg flat. Where I had the luxury of selfishness. Where I didn't need to share my shitter, or ensure the hand towel wasn't being used as the dish towel.
(Ozzie bird is rather particular....God I hope I don't stuff up, I was Monica, but now I'm not so sure), but needless to say I have to keep reminding myself:

I need to learn to live with people again. Two years in my own flat was a phase of luxury; now I am in London, shit is different.

And hey, I have a little pebble garden here to sit in. Didn't have that in Jozi right? Oh and the last thing I see before I go to sleep, are chimneys through my window.

I have the big room, which in itself is grand, although God knows where I am going to stuff all my furniture when it arrives in 6 weeks. There's an attic I think.

I am conscious of the fact that it's homely and neat, and that the shower is eccentric.
I am living in a digs again. Should I be worried or liberated? I might almost be 30, so it's not that bad surely?

Albeit, to feel better that I've essentially stepped down in living quarters to step up in city quarters ("London is a world class city with amazing adventurous stuff for me to do and discover." Repeat and rinse), I blew a coupla pound on bedding.

I've never owned a duck feather and down luxury duvet set, as it was emblazoned across the box. It's all crunchy and soft. With pillows and this thing called a 'mattress topper' that my Brit insists is a Must Have, not a Nice To Have.

So in a world of disarray, at least I have great pillows.

I anxiously await the arrival of my clothes today. The air cargo has apparently arrived over the skies of Britain. Which means I don't have to live in a suitcase anymore.

When your clothes arrive, is that when you can officially call it home, or is it when you start using Windex to scrub stray pubes out of the bath before you get in?