I miss being able to call things 'mine' instead of either 'ours', 'yours' or 'hers'.
I miss furniture and home comforts, like the bedside-table I bought from the charity shop up the road.
I miss the big old shitty tv and Maria's second-hand x-box.
I miss Assassin's Creed.
I miss having take-away. Here, take-away is either fish and chips, or its cooked in a microwave, with tesco packaging. In Brighton, everything is withint five minute's walk, and its hot and bad for you and delicious.
I miss the hilton pool. I miss the hilton gym. I wonder what happened to the guy I'd chat with in Sauna who had a girlfriend in... Arkansas? Somewhere in the US.
I miss 'communal areas'. This house has no communal area, because as soon as you're doing something in it, the other people around don't want to be there anymore. Because tapping at a keyboard, or cooking food, is annoying.
I miss cooking meals together. I miss enjoying the whole process, from deciding what to buy, splitting the cost, splitting the bags evenly, cooking up a meal and all sitting down together to eat it.
I miss Maria's paella. And her tiramisu. and her curries. and her banana milkshake. and her homemade soup.
I miss mac and cheese. I haven't made it since.
I miss having a flat small enough that baking made even the bathroom smell yummy.
I miss the sound of seagulls from the balcony.
I miss being able to listen to music in the house, dance around whilst cooking, or just, whenever.
I miss spending nights in together on the sofa.
I miss the comfort of having someone to say goodnight to, and good morning to.
I miss my old boss. And her cat. and the simplicity of my old job.
I miss walking to starbucks on the way to work in the morning (even though it's really cliched).
I miss the excitement of having a Molly Maid car for a couple days, as transport was a rarity.
I miss the sound of the sea, and the feel of the fresh wind on your face.
I miss seeing the sunset into the water.
I miss Western Road, and Churchill Square, and the stupid clocktower that never showed the correct time.
I miss the houses I used to clean in, the beautiful flats, the mansions, the country houses, the farms, the cottages and the seven story terraced house on the most expensive sea-front square in Brighton.
I miss the gay couples who would phone up and piss off Gilly by being 'too touchy' about their homes.
I miss the weird mod rocker from the charity shop, and his ex-heroin addict ways.
There are so many things about living there that I loved, but there are two things I miss more than everything else. Two people who made all those things quirky and loveable, and without them, Brighton wouldn't have been my home. I miss living with my two best friends and sharing the scary independence we had all thrown ourselves into.
Sometimes, when I'm having a shit day, or something's getting my down (or I just feel ill and glum) I'll pretend I'm sitting on the arm chair, next to the balcony window, and I can see the blue sky above, and I can hear the gulls scrapping around in the bins outside, and I can smell curry, either from our kitchen or the Indian up the road, and all the doors are open and I can hear life and a buzz around me and I'm exactly where I want to be.
But then I open my eyes, and the woman I live with never cooks or listens to music, and the man never wants to sit down and watch "shitty American tv" when there are fascinating things to watch on bbc 4 instead.
There are some good things about being here; I'm not saying if I could turn back time I'd change it, but I know what I loved there, and the things that I enjoy and appreciate here are less tangible.
I miss having all that love in my life.
I miss spending nights in together on the sofa.
I miss the comfort of having someone to say goodnight to, and good morning to.
I miss my old boss. And her cat. and the simplicity of my old job.
I miss walking to starbucks on the way to work in the morning (even though it's really cliched).
I miss the excitement of having a Molly Maid car for a couple days, as transport was a rarity.
I miss the sound of the sea, and the feel of the fresh wind on your face.
I miss seeing the sunset into the water.
I miss Western Road, and Churchill Square, and the stupid clocktower that never showed the correct time.
I miss the houses I used to clean in, the beautiful flats, the mansions, the country houses, the farms, the cottages and the seven story terraced house on the most expensive sea-front square in Brighton.
I miss the gay couples who would phone up and piss off Gilly by being 'too touchy' about their homes.
I miss the weird mod rocker from the charity shop, and his ex-heroin addict ways.
There are so many things about living there that I loved, but there are two things I miss more than everything else. Two people who made all those things quirky and loveable, and without them, Brighton wouldn't have been my home. I miss living with my two best friends and sharing the scary independence we had all thrown ourselves into.
Sometimes, when I'm having a shit day, or something's getting my down (or I just feel ill and glum) I'll pretend I'm sitting on the arm chair, next to the balcony window, and I can see the blue sky above, and I can hear the gulls scrapping around in the bins outside, and I can smell curry, either from our kitchen or the Indian up the road, and all the doors are open and I can hear life and a buzz around me and I'm exactly where I want to be.
But then I open my eyes, and the woman I live with never cooks or listens to music, and the man never wants to sit down and watch "shitty American tv" when there are fascinating things to watch on bbc 4 instead.
There are some good things about being here; I'm not saying if I could turn back time I'd change it, but I know what I loved there, and the things that I enjoy and appreciate here are less tangible.
I miss having all that love in my life.