How much life can be lived between four walls and five years? Builders and late night natters with neighbours. Champagne welcomes. The L Word with the L gals. Melrose Place, including psychopath. Nathe (my Nathe). The garden furniture incident. The midnight tirades. SMSing the coppers. One braai (yup, just the one). Lots of small dogs. Guns and roses. Literally. A large amount of wine. Getting to know the Dominnee. Dinner parties and bookclub. Shared secrets. Joy. The night the rain came. The baby bird. The sushi (oh, god, the sushi). Three…and a half….lovers. One thoroughly fucked up heart. A thousand DVDs. Cooking soup on cold winters nights. Lanterns in summer. The palm Sunday ritual. Love in the afternoon leaf light. Photo shoots and boob schmooshes. The friend who came for three weeks and stayed a year. Lots and lots of tea. And smoothies. Hundreds of blog posts. Hundreds of books. Hippies and muggers. Lock up and go. A World Cup. A resident black dog. A refuge. A sanctuary.
On Sunday I handed over the keys of my first home to its new owners.
I’ll miss you, Camden Square. So long, and thanks for all the fish.