Ta dah!

D-Day is upon us...

Not an auspicious beginning as I fumble with the keys and an armload of hangars, unable to get the damn door to yield. I precariously balance another two armloads of hangars, fingers protesting at the sudden weight as DDM gives it a go... Nada. Obviously, his idea of picking up the keys and checking out the flat first was a damn sight better than my shrugged, let's just take the hanging stuff and dump it in the wardrobes strategy. Just as I'm about to surrender and stalk back to the agents, I spy a sneaky second lock, skulking near the bottom of the door. Eureka! I mean Open Sesame, and my fingers are now ready to forgive and forget. I saunter around pleased with the light streaming in and the high ceilings, and DDM's unstinting endorsement (he even tests the 24 hours water precept and tells me the pressures good). We have a bleep moment as the tap on the left runs as cold as the tap on the right, but a few minutes of contribution to global warming moment fixes that, and I have a thumbs up. A fried breakfast seems to be the only appropriate response and we toddle over to Laville for our usual Saturday cholesterol fix.

My plans for a shocking pink and black theme fades, as I demolish my rather sophisticated eggs over easy with asparagus and Parmesan shavings, recalling the flat's ugly brown carpet. While, I’ve established I might not have curtains in the new flat, I do have blinds and hideous carpeting. Breakfast done, we hook up with Jayal and drag her and a couple of more bags before heading off to feed her. Apparently two luggage runs has a debilitating effect on ones constitution, and DDM and I split a scrumptious calf's liver with mash, despite our 'I'm so stuffed' chorus, and even filch some of Jayal's sausages.

Half a dozen trips, and the flat still looks empty, but I’m already feeling the sense of Queen of the realm, as I desperately think of ways of not spending money to make it habitable. I’m definitely going to have to acquire something to install some of my lingerie, a few lamps, and at least one bedside table plus coffee table. I drop the funky recycled crate installation I had in mind (very avant garde to go with the pre-ugly carpet pink and black era) and unpack the last of the niggling stuff from the duffel bag so I can take it back for what I hope will be one last trip. it's as I leave the glass with all my facial crayons on the window sill, that I make the startling discovery that there’s no mirror in the bathroom.

Brilliant. This must be the only fucking flat in all of London without a single bleeding mirror. Everywhere I’ve stayed, hell, every house I’ve looked at has had a plethora of mirrors: Bathroom, living room, entrance hall, bedroom, wardrobes… everyfrickin’where! It’s bad enough I always seem to miss curtain type events, although I did check the water pressure this time, but mirror?!? In the bathroom at least? Oh well, I few quid will get me one where I can make sure my hair isn’t vertical, line my eyes and fill my lips sans a Bipolar meets Parkinson’s effect.

The carpet however…… I’ll just say I’m colour blind, and run with the black and pink motif anyway. Maybe put up everything else I have on the wall just to emphasise the point. Steamed scallops on the shell, deep fried garlic and soft shell crab polished off by a mountain of crab noodle soothes my artistic frustrations and I'm actually sanguine as we wait in the perpetual queue that greets ever first weekend show of a Hindi film at Cineworld. Uh oh. I've left the windows of the flat open. Hope it doesn't rain!