Hello smile

I'm Siobhan Curran/Kisa Naumova, and this is my weblog. I tend to write about stuff like crossdressing, Macs, code, cats, wine and Second Life, but in general it's just an ongoing conversation about all sorts of stuff. If you'd like to know a little bit more about what this all is, I recommend starting on this page which has a little bit of info on who I am, and what I'm trying to do — or you could dive into my five years worth of archives if you like.

Otherwise, feel free to close this box and explore...

So I Went To See A Flat...

...on Thursday. Normally, I tend to write stuff down the second it happens — 'preserving the moment' and all that. But for some reason, I just haven't been able to get my fingers to hit the keyboard properly in the last couple of days.

I think i can guess what part of town is chavtastic. is it "W" related?

@Rachel — nope :smile: It's "M" related.

First impressions: The area seems to be OK. As I said before, as soon as I told some people where it was, the first thing that came out of their mouths was "OMG. Chavtown". But like I said, I live next to The Marsh.

The stret itself wasn't remotely chavvy. In fact, it had a completely 'suburban' feel to it. As I was sat there in my car, waiting for the landlady to turn up (I set off way too early, figuring it was better to give myself plenty of time) I couldn't help but sense the impression of curtain-twitching going on.

"Who's that ~~rather attractive young lady~~ chap sitting in his car on the street?"

It wasn't (fortunately) one of those ghastly new-builds that are springing up all over Leeds. But it wasn't a victorian terrace either — most likely a mid-eighties housing development. From the outside, it's a little 'non-descript' — lacking the (IMHO) aesthetic charm of where I live at the moment.

Inside, it's OK :smile: Relatively spacious — to an extent.

The living room is big(ish), with bare white walls (yum). The kitchen is really nice — like me, she's only just had it done.

The main bedroom is reasonably sized — perhaps a little smaller than mine, but more interestingly shaped. And the spare bedroom is, well, tiny.

But then again, so is my one here :wink:

The garden though ... is massive. OK, not massive in the sense that my parents' garden used to be, but bigger (I'd say) than my entire house at the moment.

...

They seemed really nice as well — the landlady and her boyfriend. We chatted for a bit about things (me failing to mention the smoking aspect, although I was quietly encouraged by what looked like a fag-burn in the carpet), and I told them I'd let them know by Monday. They had some other people coming to look at it you see, and I figured it would be rude to say "I'll take it" without letting the others have a look-around.

I am, of course, quietly regretting that. All the way home I was sondering to myself whether I should have just said "Yes" there and then.

What I did say, was "basically, I really like it, and I'd like to take it. So unless these other people are fantastically lovely, 'Yes'".

...

Driving back home, down the M62 towards Manchester with the Stone Roses playing ever-so-loudly, I was a bit of a blur of excitement. I could, actually, see myself living there — for at least a year. There were a couple of other things that happened on Thursday — relating to my job — that, combined with this idea of living within half-an-hour of work, made me feel like I was actually moving onwards in life a little.

(It's just around the corner from a bus stop, and the train station is a fifteen minute walk away)

Lancaster though, is a cursed¹ town. It's like a duvet, I often feel — a safe, comfy, snuggly place that you just don't want to leave, and face the chilliness of the rest of the world.

Within a day of being back here, sitting in the warm familiarity of my house, looking out of the window at the trees and feeling very-much self-identified with the space, it's only taken me a day to start questioning whether I really want to move away or not.²

...

Anyways, I'll let yous know on Monday whether I get it or not.

¹ There is a local legend that the Pendle Witches cursed Lancaster just before they were hanged — "Once you come here, you'll never leave" (or something like that). It is, of course, complete bollocks — in fact, I know the guy who claims to have invented the myth, and there's absolutely nothing in any of the records or books about such a 'curse'. Although, having said that, there are a hell of a lot of people here who came for a short while, and just never went away. I was only supposed to be here for a year back in 1991, for example.

² I do. At least I think I do.

Why wait? CALL.

Housing is a bit like that golden job opportunity: if you're too slow, it ain't gonna happen. The landlady is probably wondering what was wrong with the place that you didn't snap it up. That's what she telling you: snap it now, or else it's their's.

Oh — a common "trick" is to tell you others are looking. We had that when we house hunting; "another couple is looking to put an offer in"; to which we decided either "let them, it's not for us", or we put our offer in later that day. And who cares, anyway? If you like the place, take it!

Who cares if the other people are nice? You're looking for a place for you, not them! Never worry about what other folk might be like. Believe me, they aren't even thinking of you.

Opportunity knocks. Don't wait for someone else to answer the damn door — go get it yourself!

CALL THE LANDLADY. TODAY.

Just trying to be helpful. :smile:

Carolyn Ann

CALL THE LANDLADY. TODAY.

I can't — she's at a wedding, which is why she told me to call her on Monday. I should have said earlier, that it wasn't me that decided to say Monday, it was her.

Change can be hard. It's full of uncertainty, things that could go wrong, and things that might go right.

New homes, in particular, have lots of problems: the emotional sense of displacement, the familiar versus the unfamiliar and so on. It's not for nothing that moving home is classed as one of the 3 major stresses of life!

But you have to balance the uncertainty — which is a short term thing, anyway — with the potential positives of change. Both Emma G and I moved quite considerable distances to take a chance on relationships that might, or might not, work out. It would be easy for either one of us to say "oh, heck: maybe I'll stay with what I know"; I can't speak for Emma (even if I use her as an example!), but I'm rather delighted with the often totally unexpected twists and turns my life has taken. Simply because I embrace change as a way of moving in my life.

Change can be good. It can be exciting, and it can be fraught with uncertainty. But that's no reason to not make a change. Especially if it can help you realize your goals in life, or simply make your life just that bit better.

You're the only one who can make the decision to change, though. Good luck with your decision: and don't give a toss if the other people are nice. I always think we need to be quite mercenary to get what we want out of life. It's not like anyone's going to hand us our dreams...

Carolyn Ann

Sounds like a good possibility, and a cool place to be for at least that first year. I can relate to the inertia against moving but I've actually done it a lot in life cos of work, and even spent a few nightmare months living in Brussels (everything they say about Belgians is true btw!) but most of the moves have turned out to be brilliantly positive experiences. The last one, down to Cornwall (five years ago) was the greatest risk, 350 miles away from family, friends and job, but the only way I could be with Phoenix, and totally worth it.

Just remember home is wherever you lay your hat/wig :wink:

Wolf

Or, indeed, cat :smile:

You can leave Lancaster. I'm proof.

And if it's the right answer for you then you should go for it.

"It's the end....but the moment has been prepared for."

Good luck honey.