First Night

The first night in my new flat was a weird one. I arrived to collect the keys at 11am. Although it was actually slightly past 11am because I had a really heavy suitcase, an alleged ten minute walk, and very little grasp of exactly how hilly Falmouth really is. I’m very rarely late for things, but when I am you can bet it’s for something important.

So, I staggered up the driveway all of five minutes late, apologising profusely to the estate agent when he came to let me in. He carried my suitcase up the stairs like it was nothing (and I let him because I’m a strong, independent woman, but when I’m knackered and stressed and sweating feminism can do one) and had me sign a million things. As an added bonus he rolled around on my kitchen floor for a while until he figured out how to switch my fridge on, which was nice in terms of actual niceness, as well as in terms of slapstick.

After no time at all, he went on his way, and I was left in my empty flat to wait for Currys to turn up and confirm that I really am an adult by entrusting me with my very own washing machine and freezer. Like, I know I paid for them, so it’s technically my decision, but I feel like someone somewhere must be watching the orders coming in and confirming or denying whether you can be trusted to own these things. And I passed.

I had a one hour window between getting my keys and my Currys delivery window, so I took full advantage of that with a walk along the seafront, a trip to Trago Mills to buy a granny trolley (honestly lifechanging, every woman-about town should have one), and a stop in Tesco for a sandwich.

With the lack of internet access or any but the most basic belongings, I sat in my flat all day saving up my only piece of entertainment, which was inflating the air mattress I’d be sleeping on that night. In the meantime, I lay on the floor following a patch of sunlight around the room like a sunbathing cat because I hadn’t yet figured out that I needed to switch my boiler on in order to be warm on a chilly April day. That was a bonus ten minutes of entertainment when it finally dawned on me.

When I couldn’t take the boredom any more, I ordered Dominos (a medium Mighty Meaty with a stuffed crust and no sides, which is the most restrained I’ve ever been because I am an adult now) and watched out of the window like a puppy dog until it arrived. I watched Trainwreck for the ninetieth time because it’s the only film I have downloaded on my Kindle, and I finally figured out how to switch on my boiler.

Some of the things I googled that night included “Why do I need to leave my freezer off for four hours?”, “What does a thermostat do?”, “Can I get a thermostat?”, “Do I need a thermostat?” (I admit I got into a bit of a thermostat spiral. It turns out I have one on each radiator and that is a good, if stunningly boring, thing), “How to tell what kind of hob you have”, and also “dogs vs. lemons”, because everybody deserves a laugh.

The irony of all of this is that I’m writing this at the end of a day with no internet, so I don’t even have a way of posting it. But I wrote it anyway, because I am an adult with a flat, and a fairly low boredom threshold. If you’re reading this on the internet, please assume that I am officially back on the grid. Or I found a café with giant fuckoff cakes* and free wifi, and needed an excuse to have a giant fuckoff piece of cake.**

*Just so we’re clear, it ended up being Option B. I am weak.

**Actually a chocolate orange cinnamon bun and an arty flat white because that’s how I roll.

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