And I’ll give you the key 🎶
….well not really. But it’s a catchy ol’ theme tune to have acquired now that I have fled city living for some clean air & space in the Scottish countryside.
Yes – after weeks and weeks of stress and dealing with professional imbeciles at every turn, our big move is finally done and dusted.
Ok, so now what?
I had hoped for immediate relief, yet I’m finding that the small stuff is still keeping me awake at night:
I know no one and shall be working from home;
the septic tank vent smells a bit funky;
I need a spider catcher, a lawn mower and a good local pub;
I now have a field of flowers to feed.
This feels a lot like grown up responsibility.
I’m not sure what I was expecting really.
I wonder how much I might miss the comfort of strangers that city life provides, many of whom have inspired posts on this blog.
That’s not to say our new area is uncivilised.
Quite the opposite dahling.
I’m just yet to meet another human being.
I should really offer you up some smug new home owner thoughts now, I guess.
The kind of stuff I love to hate my fellow home & interior bloggers for.
I’m afraid that once this bit is out, I shan’t be bothering you with paint colours, grouting solutions or before & after mold shots.
Hope that’s ok with ya’ll, but I would rather watch paint dry.
It was love at first sight the moment I saw the house.
Seriously, it was.
[Editors note: Don’t worry, there are no romance novels sitting in my WIP; although reading this post back, I’m becoming increasingly concerned that the Jodi Picoult I’m reading is brainwashing me – and not in a good way.]
One simply can’t help following one’s heart.
But like an unsuitable lover, I tried to shove my feelings about the house and it’s beautiful rural surroundings to the coldest corner of my mind.
We were being time-wasters really. I was unenthusiastic and secretly scornful when Mr GD had suggested we go and see a few properties in Edinburgh’s commuter belt “just to see how much further our money would go” outwith our eye-wateringly competitive capital city’s real estate market.
But as it turns out, money goes a LOT further.
And as hard as I tried, I couldn’t get this place out of my head.
I had always seen myself as one of those people who moved and shook in the city from cradle to grave.
Funny how things change.
And I am a believer in fate.
The house itself is a converted station master’s house from when there was still a train line into the village from Edinburgh in the 1960s. Although it was only converted to its present form in 1993, it retains elements of its former glory, including a walk in larder & Rayburn cooker.
If you had to, I suppose that you could legitimately label me a 21st century housewife. I’m not too fussed about alternative feminist terms or euphemisms for this perfectly valid career path. I make no apologies for that.
But, whilst the Rayburn (AGA) represents the ultimate in country living luxury to most domestic goddesses, it did little more than fill me with feelings of utter dread and inferiority in my role as chief cook & bottle washer.
The funny thing is that city folk keep telling me how great AGA toast is. Like they know or have time. I tell them that’s what I have an electric toaster for.
It is rather pretty though, right?!
I’m sure I will get there in the end!
So, we’ve been in two days. The boxes are unpacked. The furniture is almost all here. The sun is shining on the glen. Mum and dad have come for the tour and tell me how proud they are of us.
Next week is a new start. I keep reminding myself that my anxieties are normal. I’m nervous, yes. But I can’t wait to get out and see who and what’s out there.