I’m writing from our new (well, new to us) St. Albans flat. It’s perfect. It has its little flaws, like the wasps nest in the bedroom wall, and the sloping ceilings that Chris keeps hitting his head on, but the wasps are dying and I’m short enough not to hit my head on the sloping ceilings (Chris is learning to avoid one side of the lounge).
I fell in love with St. Albans on our second visit, and on our third visit we were viewing flats. The first time I came to the city was with Chris; it was our forth(ish) date. We went to The Breakfast Club for lunch; I had their sweet French toast with cinnamon and bananas. It was delicious. On our second visit, we went to a pub for lunch and had a wander around the city centre. That’s when I told Chris that *one day* probably in the far, far distant future, I wanted to live here. Six months later, we moved to St. Albans.
I love our home: it’s cosy and warm, our neighbours are friendly, and, most of all, it’s ours. The flat is still in chaos, but we’re gradually getting there, sorting through things (the space is mostly taken up by my enormous collection of books… oops) and our things are finding their places; our sofa/day bed is built; our bed is put together; our cupboards are filled; our Ikea bags are slowly being emptied.
I’m happy, and I can’t wait to get to know our new city.