Moving on up, Moving on out

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I have an apartment. Kitchen, bedroom, living room and toilet/shower. Bed, sofa, chair, table, sink and wardrobe.

It's in one of those grim, grey towerblocks you associate with Poland or East London. I'm on the fifth floor, which I get to by pressing the button for "six" in the lift, which has a big clangy iron door, room enough for two at a squeeze, and the dimmist illumination ever.

The apartment itself is a-bit-large-for-one or a-bit-small-for-two, the three main rooms being about ten foot square. I'll still be cooking pasta and eggs in the kettle, drinking multiple mugs of milkless tea at odd hours, doing the laundry in a bucket, eating off the same one plate, and wondering whether things would have been different if I'd taken that job in the Czech republic.

I could get net access in the apartment for 30 leva per month with no restrictions - but I'll still be spending most of my time in this office, and it's easy to carry the laptop back and forth, so there's no great need.

There's an odd sadness in leaving a place that's become familliar, and another, not quite the same, in spending time alone in a place that isn't yet familliar. But hey, now I've got privacy, space, even a chance to make some music.

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I've had requests for pictures on this blog. With any luck there should be some soon. In the meantime, here's an uplifting message.

Just say no, kids.


'Cos drugs are made by evil people.


They make you see funny things.


And they give you bad skin.


It's not scaremongering, it's real.


So remember, be normal, like normal people are.

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