We’re upping sticks and moving from countryside to town: from Pett Level to Bohemia, St. Leonards.
The reasons are numerous, but probably the most salient is the saving of £250 a month in rent, plus, it’s a house and a place we can be ourselves. For the last two years we’ve been living in this … umm, well, to be frank, a tarted up shack. The owner bought it at the very top of the market for £250,000 and consequently has to charge a ludicrously high rent for it. We viewed on a beautiful may day and, obviously, had on rose tinted shades. In summer it’s sweltering; in winter it’s bloody freezing. Worse, this year we’ve been bitten to death by mosquitos, to boot.
We’ve never put pictures up, B wants to paint murals and can’t, and I’ve felt trapped. The house we’re moving to is a different kettle of frogs entirely. We can do what we want there. Paint it how we like; do what we want, and provided we pay the rent, and don’t raise it to the ground, all is peachy.
Another BIG motivation in moving into town is travel. Whichever way you look at it, if you live in the country you have to travel to get anywhere. The nearest shop to us is six miles there and back: a supermarket fourteen, and petrol ain’t cheap!
Jobs. Unless you want to start a small smuggling operation there aren’t any out in Pett. Besides, ‘they’ have radar and sniffer seals and you can’t ‘bring in’ much in a radio controlled boat – even if you have one, which I don’t. I’ve a gas guzzling car, but it doesn’t count.
So that’s what I’m up to. Meanwhile, in Libya, Muammar Gaddafi has legged it and the Arab Spring is trundling on and gaining ground with every day. Odd it is how there are so many different ways to live the brief time we’re allotted on our lone planet circling a sun in the spiral arm of one of billions of galaxies.