Let me tell you about a flat | Runawaykiwi, Expat in London
I cried yesterday, big ugly tears. I cried as I sat on the couch in my new flat opening junk-mail. One might think it was the way that Virgin Media seems hell bent on killing trees by way of repetitious marketing letters that made me cry, but no. It was because I had just moved out of a flat I loved, that meant so much to me. I moved out for the best of reasons, falling head over heels in love with a guy that I hope to annoy for many years to come. And we have moved somewhere just as well designed, light and literally 300 meters from my old place. I am so damn excited to have moved both in terms of the new flat and the whole boyfriend thing - but there was still that tide of tears I couldn't stem as I opened yet another piece of junk mail (this time from BT). I lived in my little studio flat for two and a half years, and if my plot twist of a man had not come along I would be living there still. It was the first place I had ever lived by myself, the first time I had been totally