So. I was for some reason looking for a flat to move in by myself. So I went to this address in Brunstfield and knocked on the door. An old woman opened the door.
I got in the flat and here it was: a huge room with a huge bed, nice bed sheets, loads of pillows. The bed was in the centre of the living room. Maybe that means something? Lately I have been thinking about how great of a place bed is. The best place in the world. The best things happen in bed. Sleeping being the best of the bestest.
I was already impressed by this high ceiling, spacious, charming flat. It wasn't modern, the paint was crumbling down the white walls but god it just felt so homely. We then moved to the kitchen which was just as big as the first room. The cooking area just took 10% of the space or so. The rest was just empty space. And I remember thinking: "wow, imagine the great parties I could do here". It was ideal.
But the best part was still to come: a MASSIVE room just full of clothes racks and on every single hanger, magnificent cashmere jumpers. Jumpers of all sizes and colours. Jumpers with beads, pearls and sparkle. Amazing jumpers, all with this little airy layer on top of the wool -so typical of cashmere.
Ah it was beautiful. The space, the bed, the kitchen, the endless clothes racks full of jumpers.
And it was only £110 a week, I remember! Surely it was worth it!
When I left the flat, and after a great chat with the owner who loved me, I saw a group of four or five people sitting across the road. Art students waiting to have their turn to visit the flat. They were all so well dressed but also so very up their own arses. So when I walked down the street, I saw them entering and I remember thinking: no way they are taking away my beautiful nest.
I then woke up and never got to find out what happened. But I'm pretty sure the owner then decided to keep the flat after seeing the love in my eye. She just realised she had something so valuable, she couldn't give it away so easily.