No.1 for Beauty

Columnist 10

Well, we've done it. We have taken the most beautiful cottage imaginable (rambling garden, log fire, a ridiculously large quantity of built-in shelving just big enough for our ridiculously large quantity of books) in the most ideal location imaginable (historic village, down by the sea, red telephone box on the edge of the green and the sort of place in which the news of our imminent arrival has already seeped to each quaint little home in a five mile radius).

I am eight parts over the moon and - of course - two parts terrified. The only solution to which is (always) several large cups of tea and a very significant wedge of white millionaire shortcake, strung lazily out along this lovely evening in the coffee shop - while organising, planning and packing loom un-done in the very doorway of my little flat.

In part, perhaps, it's nothing short of hiding out I'm doing here, in my second-favourite place in town, while my old favourite place - my beautiful single-girl's home - waits for me and wonders, once again, why I'm out so late. The guilt of my flaunting affair with country life weighs heavily on me, and the knowledge that in a matter of weeks I will finally choose the new and leave behind forever the old is a bittersweet one. Within the four walls of my little suburban upper one-bed, I have known so much happiness. I have learned to change light bulbs, take meter readings and remove spiders from the bath. I have mastered the candles-book-and-wine nights, I have dabbled in fancy cooking and applauded my own attempts (and then chickened out and reverted to spag bol whenever company arrives - some things take a little longer). I have mastered the art of the perfectly decorated Christmas home, I have memorised my order at the local Chinese takeaway and succeeded in pretty much never letting it drop off the end of my last-dialled list. I have watched the snow fall and the sun come out, pulled the covers tight while the wind whips against the window, and I have smiled and chatted with my neighbours morning and night about these very same weather phenomenona with pleasing routine.

I'm quite sure, of course, that they have snow and sun and rain in beautiful quaint villages too - and even that they pass the time of day by discussing them as they meet in their tree lined streets. Nostalgia is, and always will be, a constant companion of mine, that's a fact I've learned to live with. I used to think I always liked to have something to be deeply missing, that I simply replaced the most recently departed stage in life with the next and the next; but in truth there is no replacing involved - I merely add to them. On my last day of high school I broke my heart as the final bell rang, and they told me in a few months time I'd never miss it, but they were wrong. It features to this day at the tail of a list - the glorious university years, my first job, every flat I ever rented, my family home, even some holiday homes (I ask you!) - that I will always continue to mourn the loss of, just a little bit, in the midst of the new - which I also know in turn without a doubt to be so deeply wonderful it will tear me up to lose. To sum up, there's been a lot of loveliness and I can't complain. My first home all of my own has been a beautiful, treasured experience but I only have to rest my eyes for a moment on the pretty rusty tiles of our new little house to know that those walls too will hold tight the straining happiness of our combined lives.

Living with Mr M is most definitely an experience I look forward to. Today as we bickered about moving dates and which bills should be covered by a joint account I had to shake my head a little and wonder how on earth we got here, when five years ago we were drinking VKs with a straw and flirting shyly with each other in fancy dress on student nights out. The little sacrifices aside (having to have a 40-inch plasma TV mounted to the wall of the authentic cottage living room to name but one (large) one) I am moved beyond words to look at us, at this huge step we are taking together and how easily we are doing it, how excited we both are about this new stage. I won't lie, I'll shed more than a stray tear when I go to bed in my little place for the very last time but I'll hardly sleep for excitement the next night as we lock our old oak door and pad around trying the sofas pointing in various directions, checking one last time that the lovely view is still out there, and settling into our first shared home for the night.

Maybe we'll even get the odd Chinese meal delivered down there, just for old times' sake - and I've already got a good idea of where the Christmas tree could go."

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