Flat life

I rented a one-bed apartment when I was going to school. However, I was working full-time and going to school at night, and probably spent more time on the road than in the apartment.

And that was it. I moved into a one-bed house, then a two-bed, then bought a 3-bed, and finally into a 4000-square foot mansion in Pennsylvania.

For the past four years, however, I've been back in apartments, or flats as they're called here. They haven't been bad--the loft in downtown LA was spectacular, living in Brentford along the Thames was a joy, and my flat in Ealing -- where I stayed for 18 months -- was fine until the end, when noisy neighbors moved in upstairs. Since September I've been living with Jess, primarily because I thought I thought we'd be moving into a house by December.

Jess owns half of the ground floor of a Victorian house converted into four flats, a one-bed that is probably smaller than my first apartment. I really shouldn't complain--the upstairs neighbors have the same amount of space, sans garden, and they've been there for 21 years...and raised a son.

However, Jess and I are very excited -- and getting more excited by the day -- of moving out of the flat and into our house. Of course, it's still a semi-detached -- with a "party wall" between us and the neighbors -- but we don't have anyone living above or below us, and we have a private yard. We talk about having people over for dinner, or just eating dinner at a table instead of on the sofa. We think of what we can put in the spare bedroom, or on the patio. We dream about what we want to do in the garden, to create a little oasis of tranquility in our lives. I can't wait to have a bathroom I can turn around in, instead of backing in or out.

At 98 square meters (just over 1000 square feet), it's nearly half the size of my house in Lomita, but I can't wait. Something I took for granted for 15 years now seems like heaven to me.