cabin fever

This is the back of our little house in summer. Today, it looks like spring at last and I was squinting like a freshly awakened hibernator as I walked to the post office this morning. It is beautiful here.

But things are getting worse and worse. I can't shake the desire to leave and start on a new adventure somewhere else, I've got the moving bug so badly. I always knew I'd be a fickle homeowner, especially since the properties we can afford are so SMALL! There simply aren't enough rooms for me to decorate so I suppose I've just gotta move house when I'm done with each one :-) But lord am I fussy when it comes to criteria for a new one! I wonder sometimes as I trawl the estate agents' sites whether I will ever find one that fits the bill. I'm not looking for my dream home - I can't afford that - but I am looking for something exciting to play with.


However, with all that said, I will always love this house - it was our first home, our lucky house. We got married, shared our first Christmas, grew our first proper vegetable garden, threw our first house-warming and tiled our first floor here. It is a special place, especially on a summer evening when we can stand at the end of the garden in the glow of the sunlight and talk nonsense whilst looking out for deer at the edge of the forest. Or sometimes we go out on clear night in the darkest hours to spot the Milky Way, visible despite bright old London to the south. I remember the first time I went out to work on the vegetable patch, on a cold February day with my neighbour's bonfire smoke drifting across the garden. And that March afternoon spent planting seeds in the greenhouse after I'd been let off work for the day. It is blissfully peaceful here, a little patch of happiness. I wonder sometimes if I am right in wanting to move on.