The World According To Me

So me and the boy, lets call him….ummmm….Pom have made the move and have signed a lease together on a relatively dilapidated but utterly 'charming' 3 bedroom red-brick abode with luscious gardens and one power-point in each room. We have also opened a joint account for the purposes of rent and bill payments, into which we plan to deposit equal amounts from our respective salaries and keep the utilities companies, the supermarkets and our real estate agent happy. Tonight I will have my beloved poochie back with me, to complete the double-income-no-kids (but a dog) scenario.

This has all come about very quickly, admittedly. Mum moving off the farm necessitated the return of Lucy, which meant I had to find somewhere else to live anyway. Pom needed to find somewhere permanent to reside in the Goulburn Valley area and thus the planets aligned and whoompah - I'm a co-tenant with a new dinner set.

I've cohabited with a boyfriend before, a few moons ago, and it was a complete fucking disaster, so I can't pretend I wasn't/aren't apprehensive. I'm well aware that moving in together can fuck up what seems like a perfectly good relationship quicksmart. However, being a little older and slightly wiser (not much of the latter, admittedly) I decided to take the approach that if we can't live together after 3 months, how are we supposed to live together after 12? 24? 5 years? Bugger this waiting until the 'right time'….if it's right, it'll be okay. If it's not, well at least I've found out sooner rather than later.

However being a professional house-sharer for many years, I have failed to collect any items which may be deemed useful for now having my own house. And Pom? Well Pom arrived in the country with his life packed into 3 duffle bags. Consequently we have no television, dining table or lounge suite. I have managed to beg borrow and steal buy a sofa so we've got somewhere to sit, a fridge so we can keep the beer cold and a washing machine which I am pretty sure was made before I was. It runs rougher than a Datsun 120Y but it's managing to wash clothes, 2 shirts at a time. I feel like a St Vinnies bin at the moment to be honest, but thanks to some wonderful giving people I'm procuring items of usefulness. Tonight I'm being lent a tele so I don’t have to hum along to my tinny clock-radio for entertainment anymore. Thank fuck.

Anyway, I believe we are having a housewarming/Australia Day party next week and you're all invited. Just be sure to bring your own chair.