Tomorrow sees us moving out of our tiny two bed house into a bigger three bed just up the road. It’s an exciting time and I still can’t quite believe we’re actually moving, our house was on the market for over a year and the actual sale has taken what feels like forever, but the extra space this new house is going to give us is so needed and we’re going to have room to have people stay over in some comfort too. It’s going to be awesome.
But no matter how much I am looking forward to the new house, it’s with a tinge of sadness that we leave the old. This was the house Dave and I moved into shortly after we married; we had no furniture so we had to buy everything from scratch pretty much. The main living space is so narrow, we had to measure and then have outlines of the pieces of the furniture we wanted on the floor with string to make sure there was room for us to walk around. We ate nothing but Ikea meatballs for a week after we moved in as we bought so much from that store every night. We felt like kings as we spent an afternoon in John Lewis in Brent Cross picking and choosing all the things we wanted and spending all the vouchers we had received as presents from our wedding.
This time round as we already have some furniture, we’re trying not to buy any new furniture but get it second hand instead. I’m getting bored of instant flat pack and want to indulge my mid-century tastes a bit while being a little more environmentally friendly too. We’re hoping to have a trip to Brighton and scour the second hand shops there and visit the Ardingly Antiques & Collectors Fair.
Most importantly though is that this was Betsy’s first house. I doubt that she will remember it, but this is the place where she first crawled, first nervously stepped out onto the snow in the garden, had her first baths, celebrated her first Christmas and birthday, ate her first meals… you get the idea. It’s because of that, despite this house’s downfalls, that I will fondly remember this house for always.