Lauren_Edit

I’m leaning against her bedroom doorframe, smiling back and nodding in agreement. ‘Totally’ I think ‘I’m totally about to buy a house too’. This is my second flat viewing of the week and I get the feeling we’re at the beginning of a long and painful journey. 

By we, I mean Emily and me, who after walking the length and breadth of our local park, clutching croissants in mitten clad hands and sitting on possibly every available bench, have decided to move in together. It’s a no brainer and this year marks eight years of friendship. Plus we’ve seen each other through it all. From the quick catch up calls when we were both at different unis, ‘hi, how are you? My dog died, how’s the course going, do you still hate it?’ to unintentionally wearing matching outfits, all the Pizza Express three-course meals, summer afternoons with ice cream from George & Danver’s, buying flowers for the good times and listening when shit went south (and whatever below south is). 

Two days prior to my venture to Wapping, we saw our first property. A medium-sized, modern flat with a tiny east-facing balcony overlooking a park with one of those outdoors gyms in it. I was early to the viewing so was forced to make small talk about working from home with the realtors who had arrived in a heavily branded company car. Whilst chatting we could hear the downstairs tenants having sex, which really set the tone for the rest of the afternoon. That property is still on the market before you ask. 

Now with five viewings under our belts, Emily and I seem to be getting into the swing of things. It, therefore, feels apt to share my observations with you in case you’re thinking of moving and want some tips on looking for places in lockdown. 

Note: Moving is one of the things that can still be done during lockdown here in the UK. Em and I are both very safe, well and follow the guidelines provided. Don’t forget your mask. This is just common sense. I take hand sanitiser too. 

I went to a few viewings a couple of years ago and it was mayhem. You’d be in a property at the same time as at least 10 other people while you all fought over a mouldy bathroom. Now it’s staggered and you see places either a) on your own b) with the estate agent or c) with the current tenants and realtor (all very safe). 

Soo many properties are empty which has forced landlords to come down on their usual, extortionate prices. It’s now a tenant's market (exciting) so don’t be afraid to go under offer. Strike while the irons hot. Get your dream place for less! 

There’s no point going if you both aren’t free.

Find someone who is prepared to put in as much effort as you are when it comes to finding a place.  

Take a video tour like you're a vlogger so you can look back at it later when you’re conferring over a cup of tea. I also send these to my parents and siblings so it feels like we’re all viewing it together. 

Figure out the unique selling point of a property. Is it close to a tube station? Near work? Near a park? For me, it’s all about finding the perfect spot for a desk. I make the same sarcastic joke about working from home at each viewing and it goes down a treat. 

Whilst removing last night’s plates from the side, I felt consumed by the monotony of every day, recalling how we’ve almost been in lockdown for a year. I’m struck by my own ambivalence to milestones, sliding through Christmas as if it was just an additional missed stop on an already growing list of failed turns. 

Now the kettle is boiling and I’m distracted by the thought of 'should I have tea or a slice of lemon with honey?' I’ve had my hair in three different hairstyles for three different zoom calls. I bought a new phone case, ‘it’s sage green’ my friend notices when I call her; I’ve changed my wallpaper to a photo that reminds me of summer. 

In the mundane and the quiet, clearing the draining board included, I find myself. A steady rhythm I’ve never had, or known or realised was missing. I look forward to the smallest moments, a new recipe to try, a new place to walk, a new book in the post. I’m vaguely content as I run my hand over a curl, noticing the change in length of my hair as a measure of passing time. When I complete these tasks I'm alone, sparked by a growing need for solitude and a deeper understanding of my individual capabilities. 

Over the weekend I made a list of aspirations and goals, putting pen to paper in order to loosely formulate a plan for myself. (Owning a grey whippet with blue eyes is high up on the list). Before the festive season collapsed the way it did, I had already been feeling a little lost and confused. As January draws to a steady and sure close, I've severed ties with those inclinations, snipping the wires in my head providing blood flow to negative thoughts, imploring myself to pour this energy into activities and relationships which enable me to prosper. Slowly, I've begun to wrestle with the parts of me that struggle to make adult decisions, oftentimes choosing instead to spin around in circles like a penny in spiral wishing well, instead of going for what I really want. 

This means, and I’m sure for all women it’s the same, my period is imminent, overdue in fact, and I’m soon to bloat, cry when I can't find a specific soup bowl, crave obscure snacks and listen to a scary amount of dramatic, emotional music. However, it’s not that straightforward for me. 

Five years ago I went almost a year without a period. I put this down to the stress of moving to uni, a breakup, and being in a very negative space mentally. Periods are tricky little buggers and even when I was younger a usual cycle for me could be thrown off by exam worries and study pressures. A trip to the GP informed me that the actual reason I hadn’t experienced a menstrual cycle for nine months (don’t worry I did take a pregnancy test in the loos of my university’s art block, it was negative) was down to Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome or PCOS for short. I did a few ultrasounds, submitted my blood for science, had both internal and external scans of my own reproductive system from various hospital rooms and yet, I’m still not sure what it all means. 

Consequently, out of sheer panic and boredom, about 5 or 6 times a month I’ll do an intense dive about PCOS online, opening thousands upon thousands of tabs, cramming my browser with stories, diagrams, diet lists and advice only to then shut down my phone and forget it all. If I'm hand on heart honest, none of it helps, it makes me feel worse, yet I perservere in a desperate attempt to find a story that resonates with mine. After I was diagnosed with PCOS I cried. At twenty, I'd not really given the idea of having kids much thought, yet I still felt like I'd fundamentally and biologically failed as a woman. Every time I went for a scan I would always ask 'will I be able to have children?' of which the nurse would respond, 'I don't see any reason why not'. 

Last night I decided to cook butternut squash soup, from scratch, after lying in bed for five hours looking at single-occupancy apartments in Brighton and wondering if I was maximising my existence on God's green earth. In short, I'm not. I want a dog, and I want to walk on the beach and buy a sofa and fall in love with my neighbour as he helps me move a piece of furniture. (That's not really me getting the most out of my life either but it's a parallel universe I'm currently dwelling in). I checked my credit score yesterday as well (don't do this) after I read an article about how dodgy Klarna can be. I was horrified to discover I had an outstanding payment of £50 for a cardigan from & Other Stories. I'm telling you now, hand on heart, I have never missed a bill payment, have a direct debit set up to my credit card and would shudder at the thought of being late on my rent, YET I still spent a sweaty 20 minutes panicking about that fucking cardigan.

My wardrobe is reminding me of what it was like to go from wearing school uniform every day to the chaos of dressing in my own clothes for sixth form, aka never sure which personality 17 year old me was going to channel when I woke up. Flinging open the cupboards of my closet every morning and acknowledging that I hate 98% of my clothes, yet feeling determined to make them work in new and exciting combinations, is becoming a slight pre 9am thrill for me. Only slight. 

So I suppose this is my 678th return to blogging after a brief jaunt away to enjoy whatever Christmas season we just experienced in the UK. 

My flatmates and I successfully cooked a Christmas dinner together (my first ever away from home, scroll for a snap) and I am pleased to say that it was a roaring success. A combination of vegan and non-vegan food was consumed with joy before I spent the hours which followed in a weird sparkling wine-fuelled daze. I never believed it would be possible to grow tired of a city but I do believe London will grind me down to a fine enough (and small enough) point that I will eventually slip between the ever-growing gaps in our floorboards, stuck in the grasps of our capital city forever. The only remedy I can think of right now is getting 14 tattoos and piercings once we are ‘out the other side’ of 'this' - whatever that means. 

Did I think about a possible New Year's resolution during the strange days that reside between the 25th and 31st of December? Not really, but I do want to try and be present, listen to more podcasts and truly love life. I turned 25 just before lockdown was implemented in England last year, and as I'm hurtling towards 26 I'm determined to make the best of 2021, however short it may be. 

Now in a national lockdown for six weeks (which was needed waaaay before Christmas) I wonder what we'll all look like when we emerge mid-February? Hopefully stronger, with a protected NHS and our mental states intact. Do I dare to dream after 2020? 

*are not all boots under the knee? 

I hope all my readers and their loved ones are safe and well in what again is a very uncertain time. 

Until my next sporadic post, 

Buh-bye xoxo