Chaos on Arrival
View of Balcony and Beyond from my Bedroom
My usual experience of moving to a new flat of my own is a sense of disappointment. I’m not quite sure why – maybe, in my excitement, I exaggerate in my head how good the flat is; or perhaps accommodation always looks dull and lifeless once emptied of the previous owner’s belongings; or it could just be the underlying fear of whether everything’s going to be OK that prompts you to spot the negatives before the positives.
This was no different from all those other occasions. The flat looked dirtier and shabbier than I remembered, the corridors were dingier, the flat had shrunk in size.
Outside, it was 33 degrees and sunny and normally I would have been jumping for joy, yet all I could think about was whether I would get fed up with the heat.
The first thing I did was to wash the balcony floor as it was covered in dust/sand. I needed to do it two or three times before it was reasonably clean (and my standards aren’t high!). Afterwards, I had to wash my shoes as I found that I was just transferring a lot of the dust everywhere else and creating more work for myself. I sometimes wonder whether I am the female version of Mr Bean.
In contrast to the rest of the flat, the balcony was bigger than I’d remembered. I suppose I’d mentally diminished its size, as I remember the balcony being sold to me as large and I’d just looked at it disparagingly, thinking it was tiny compared to my terrace in Zurich.
However, it’s true, now that I’m here, I can see that it is a good size. It’s possibly helped by the table now being placed in a corner rather than in the middle, thus enabling the balcony dimensions to be more clearly appreciated. I somehow feel immediately at home on the balcony and I can imagine happily sitting there.
This was no different from all those other occasions. The flat looked dirtier and shabbier than I remembered, the corridors were dingier, the flat had shrunk in size.
Outside, it was 33 degrees and sunny and normally I would have been jumping for joy, yet all I could think about was whether I would get fed up with the heat.
The first thing I did was to wash the balcony floor as it was covered in dust/sand. I needed to do it two or three times before it was reasonably clean (and my standards aren’t high!). Afterwards, I had to wash my shoes as I found that I was just transferring a lot of the dust everywhere else and creating more work for myself. I sometimes wonder whether I am the female version of Mr Bean.
In contrast to the rest of the flat, the balcony was bigger than I’d remembered. I suppose I’d mentally diminished its size, as I remember the balcony being sold to me as large and I’d just looked at it disparagingly, thinking it was tiny compared to my terrace in Zurich.
However, it’s true, now that I’m here, I can see that it is a good size. It’s possibly helped by the table now being placed in a corner rather than in the middle, thus enabling the balcony dimensions to be more clearly appreciated. I somehow feel immediately at home on the balcony and I can imagine happily sitting there.
Was it Locke who maintained something along the lines of that if you worked on something, the work that you added conferred you with some right to ownership of it? If so, then perhaps it’s just because I’ve already worked on (ie, cleaned) the balcony that it feels more homely to me (ie, more like mine).
Another thing that I’d forgotten about moving is that you don’t know where to find anything. I didn’t have time to unpack on that first night, so as I went to bed, it took me ages to find my toothpaste, my hairbrush, my shower gel… everything was frantically chucked out of the suitcases as I tried to find what I was looking for, over and over again for each thing I required. Unpacking is not the most pleasant task, but getting yourself back into the state where you can find things fairly easily is quite an incentive.
As usual, I have my technical problems, too. I’m back with the two remote controls again for the TV and the setbox. The instructions were quite simple, which were to turn on both remote controls and then just use the grey one. However, I’ve done this, but I can’t get any sound. Neither control is on mute, I did check that. And I’ve pressed every single button I can find, but all I can get is a mute picture. Mind you, if the channels are in Arabic, they may as well be on mute anyway!
To end on a positive note, the more I “work”, the more homely it feels (so a big thumbs up to Locke or whoever it was). Although the sofa looked shabbier than I remembered, I find it very comfortable and I enjoy sitting on it. However, this might have something to do with the fact that I’m pretty tired when I do sit down! I'm also no longer seeing it as shabby-looking, so maybe things are already starting to feel familiar. And El Andalous looks as if it is back up to scratch now, as I hope you can see from the photo.
Another thing that I’d forgotten about moving is that you don’t know where to find anything. I didn’t have time to unpack on that first night, so as I went to bed, it took me ages to find my toothpaste, my hairbrush, my shower gel… everything was frantically chucked out of the suitcases as I tried to find what I was looking for, over and over again for each thing I required. Unpacking is not the most pleasant task, but getting yourself back into the state where you can find things fairly easily is quite an incentive.
As usual, I have my technical problems, too. I’m back with the two remote controls again for the TV and the setbox. The instructions were quite simple, which were to turn on both remote controls and then just use the grey one. However, I’ve done this, but I can’t get any sound. Neither control is on mute, I did check that. And I’ve pressed every single button I can find, but all I can get is a mute picture. Mind you, if the channels are in Arabic, they may as well be on mute anyway!
To end on a positive note, the more I “work”, the more homely it feels (so a big thumbs up to Locke or whoever it was). Although the sofa looked shabbier than I remembered, I find it very comfortable and I enjoy sitting on it. However, this might have something to do with the fact that I’m pretty tired when I do sit down! I'm also no longer seeing it as shabby-looking, so maybe things are already starting to feel familiar. And El Andalous looks as if it is back up to scratch now, as I hope you can see from the photo.
The real adventure, no doubt, has yet to begin.
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