Here I am and here I go, living alone for the first time. My new flat is in Edinburgh, Scotland, home of golf, kilts, and, by the sounds of it, bronchitis (honestly, every other person’s coughing up hunks of phlegmy lung. Or maybe they’re just practising their Bob Fleming impressions. But what do I know? I’m new here).
The flat’s pretty good. It’s not too fancy, no marble worktops or espresso makers, and nor is it rudimentary; it’s just enough. In fact, if you could see me now, sat on a beige sofa with soya milk in the fridge, pink bedsheets and cat coasters, you’d think I were in bachelor’s paradise. Pfft, yeah right. But at the very least it’s an elderly vegan woman’s paradise.
That said, I did buy all of the above. I wanted a little colour and excitement – mainly from the sheets and coasters. Beige sofas and soya milk are as enthralling as being blind – because I’m not sure where my ‘thrills’ will be coming from in the next 4 months. Writing and music are my passions, sure, but sometimes you need an impromptu injection of fun – or weed, or heroin – to satisfy your hedonistic side. Otherwise you become a washed up jellyfish, melted into the sand, too bored to even feel sorry for yourself.
Anyway, I’m sure I’ll be fine. I love the look and feel of the city, its stone buildings, mountainous surroundings, bohemian shops, friendly locals, proper deep-fried, golden brown cuisine… That’s why I moved here. And it’s nice to see youngsters walking about rather than swarms of wrinkly, old raisins like back home. If the south of England is God’s waiting room, this must be one of his pubs, young people and middle-agers having a pint and a laugh together. But then again, considering that you can’t walk 2 metres without hearing someone’s chest bagpipes wheezing away, Edinburgh may well be another waiting room. I wouldn’t be surprised if half the city was claimed overnight by lung cancer.
Tomorrow, my parents will return to the south of England, my ex-home, after bringing me and my stuff up here to Scotland. I’m grateful for their help, although I know I don’t always show it. That’s something I need to work on.
In the meantime, have a beer or a scone or a wank, or whatever it is you enjoy.
In a bit,