Mouse in the House

One of the joys of having a flat of one's own is the complete lack of rules or routine that exist. There are no meal times or weekly events, there is no pressure to get up and get on with the day and if you want to sit on the sofa and spy inconspicuously at the people opposite, so be it.

I therefore decided that I wanted a weekend where I could fully take advantage of all of this. I equipped myself with my laptop, treats from Waitrose, a comfortable ensemble of tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie and parked myself on the sofa.

All was serene and peaceful, until something caught my eye. Well it was more the corner of my eye and the movement was so quick that I didn't really acknowledge it to begin with. But the next time it happened, I looked again. There, staring back at me, about 2 metres from my sofa haven was a mouse.

How dare such a small creature interrupt my perfect afternoon and invade my blissful island? My heart leapt and my stomach turned. I like to pride myself in being both a city and a country girl but I'll admit here and now that I wouldn't have lasted 2 minutes in the country in the state I descended into. I was a wreck, frozen with fear and bound to the sofa whilst the mouse (approximately 1/20th of my size) proceeded to scurry back and forth across my landing. Panic set in and I called everyone in my phone book, both home and abroad.

I'm not quite sure what I expected people to say on the phone. Many didn't pick up, most seemed slightly baffled as to what exactly I wanted or indeed expected them to do about my rodent rendezvous, some were sympathetic and some seemed downright irritated.

And then I did something I swore I didn't need to do anymore. Miss Independent, New Flat Owning Emily called up her parents.

My parents are wonderful, practical people who have astounding patience with their difficult daughter. Nothing I do is too ridiculous or brainless and to their credit, they usually simply raise their eyebrows or sigh in desperation rather than raise their voices and say No. And so they came, armed with 3 mouse traps and a pot of peanut butter, to my eventual rescue.

As yet the mouse in uncaught, the traps are laid and I'm dreading the morning where I wake up to find one squashed inside it. However I do have a slightly humbled appreciation for my parents and an acceptance that whilst I want to do this by myself, a little help in times of trouble can be a very comforting thing.

Sleeping Beauties

We both sleep naked. This is what we've established on the first night in 313. Our new home, our little flat on the top floor of an old terraced house in Clapham, next to the railway line,across from the park, opposite another row of houses full of people and children and dogs and blinds that don't quite close.

The naked sleepers are myself and my oldest and dearest friend. We do not sleep naked in the same bed, we are purely platonic best friends. We have known each other since we were 6 years old and have always dreamt of one day living the London dream in a perfect little flat - away from the sensible world of living at home, where meals are provided - yet must be attended, parents are interested - but always want to chat and where you can never really host a whole bunch of noisy, tipsy, overexcited friends on a Friday night. So we've moved out.

It's been a fairly speedy process - granted, the number of people has changed from 3 to just us 2, the area has changed several times and we've seen our fair share of squalid, over priced box rooms. From start to finish though, the "project" which ended up with us sitting here in 313 probably took about 6 months. We've now bitten the bullet and entered the world of independence, real living and paying council tax. We couldn't be happier. Celebrations were had whilst sitting on boxes of possessions, drinking a mini bottle of champagne, toasting a new start, a new chapter for us both and a shared flat that already feels like home.