So the exciting news is that I am finally moving to the big smoke! I'm off to seek fame and fortune in good ol' London town. My pal Frank has made the move already this week - we packed up a small sack of the essentials; Old Spice deodorant, french fancies and a jar of fish paste and he slung it over his shoulder, clicked his heals and took off toward those glittering golden streets.
The process of moving is really starting to drag. I'm due out of my little house in 12 days and although the painful packing up of 152 cookery books has been done, there's still mountains of clothes and too many champagne flutes left to deal with. I think I'm finding it particularly difficult because I've grown so attached to my little cottage. It's drafty, cold, bits of it leak and there's no washing machine - but it's home. It's the first place I've lived totally on my own and despite getting off to a shaky start I now feel comforted by the clanks of the heating, the rattling of the windows and the noise of my next door neighbour chaining up his wheelie bin.
This will come as no surprise to you but I will miss the kitchen the most. Deep butler's sink, proper gas hob & cooker, no noisy extraction and miles of shelf space. It's simple, rustic and completely wonderful. Unfortunately there really isn't time to host a full on dinner party to say goodbye, especially as the dining table is trapped in the corner, hemmed in by half packed boxes. No, it will have to be an altogether quieter affair. Tonight we shall toast the rickety green staircase, drippy tap, Victorian sash windows and huge airing cupboard with a bottle of red, homemade cannelloni and chocolate brownies. Hopefully fueled with enough calories to finish the packing and get those creative thoughts bubbling over to be unleashed on the capital. So, goodbye little house, thank you for getting me this far. xxx
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