This time last year, I was moving into my fifth flat in Glasgow.  I’d lived there since 2006 and had five addresses.

The reason I moved so much wasn’t because I’m fickle.  It was because two of my five landlords neglected to pay the mortgages on the flats I occupied.  And the secure places had lifts that liked to break down when I needed to go to work, or on nights I had tickets for concerts.  During one particular breakdown (with me in it), my friend and I had sushi we’d just bought while waiting for the engineers to arrive.  It was a stair lift that was continually getting vandalised or broken by people who weren’t me/didn’t know how to use it (you had to get in, spin around twice, clap your hands three times and ask it nicely to work.) In the end, the management stopped short of asking me to leave, not very nicely.

I’d found a coveted ramped access place after looking for ages.  I’d looked for ages only to find the perfect flat in the building next door.  On the day I got the keys, I celebrated with Sarge and my Dad, and toasted with vanilla lattes.

And on this day last year, I moved in.  With the help of my Dad and my band of crazy friends.  CJ, on the cat equivalent of tranquilizers from having to move, yet again, was no help.

I set up my bookcases that first night, and it really did feel cozy.   Sarge stayed for a week in the run-up to Christmas and I had a pretty damn good flat-warming party.

We went to see It’s a Wonderful Life, and had vanilla tea and left-over party food every night.  I secretly pretended we lived together already.  I bawled when he left, I’d had such a good time.

For Christmas that year, he gave me his favourite book, which I read on the train on my way to spend New Years with him.  I finished the book sitting in my reading chair at home.  It was my first read of 2010.

A few months later, we were watching a DVD (as we like to do), and he asked if I would ever move to Edinburgh.  ‘It is not outwith the realms of possibility,’ I said.

Two weeks later, he said that the reason he was sorting out his spare room was so he could rent it out, and we could find a place together.  We’d been having dinner at an Indian restaurant and the naan bread stopped short on it’s way to my mouth.

‘Did you just ask me to move in with you?’

‘I think I did, yes.’

‘Well then, I think I’ll say yes.’

After my birthday we started looking in earnest.  We found one building with a set of steps at the front, and opposition when we asked for a ramp.   I figured there was another place for us.  We found this flat and moved in during the first week of May.  With the help of my Dad, my crazy band of friends, Sarge’s friends, and a van.

I have now lived here longer than the flat I moved into a year ago today.  Crazy.  Awesome.  Crazy awesome.

Post inspired by a Reverb10 prompt.

My books, before we put up the bookcases.

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