So this week, I have done a number of things I have never
done before. I found a deep dark love for croissants that I had been
harbouring. I ran for ten minutes on a treadmill at level eight. I went into a
bunch of vintage stores in Winchester.
However, the “first” I’m choosing to talk to you about this
week is a little more prominent for me, than discovering my love for 95p each
croissants.
I was sat at The County Arms last night, on a table outside, a choice I soon regretted as I was only wearing a skinny vest and tracksuit bottoms. I sat with four of my closest friends, and a slightly older gentleman who had a pile of important looking papers in front of him.
I was sat at The County Arms last night, on a table outside, a choice I soon regretted as I was only wearing a skinny vest and tracksuit bottoms. I sat with four of my closest friends, and a slightly older gentleman who had a pile of important looking papers in front of him.
“Any questions?” The older gentleman asked, whose name I
later remember to be David Birmingham. We all nervously shook our heads.
Tonight was the night we signed our housing contract, meaning that after weeks
of trawling through websites and walking round and round Stanmore and Weake, I
finally have a place to call my house for next year.
For me, just like all my friends, this was our first time
ever signing a legally binding contract. This was a big commitment for me, I
mean I can only commit to the gym, or a relationship for about a month before I
start getting itchy feet, let alone a house for a whole year.
But, I can do this. I’m growing up – I live at University, I
do my own washing, I buy my own Sugapuffs now. I can do this. These were the
thoughts rushing through my head as I picked up the pen, focussing my eyes on
the dotted line next to my name. Momentarily, before signing on that dreaded
dotted line, I looked at my friends.
They looked nervous. My friend Katie, the most organised out of us all,
nodded at me encouragingly. She wanted this house so badly – we all did. I
looked at the envelope in my lap. £525 of my overdraft sat in front of me,
waiting for me to hand it over.
A small moment of doubt in my mind, what else could I spend
that money on? I could afford that Green
Day shirt I wanted. A new laptop, a new phone;
all materialistic things, I am aware.
No – I need this house. We need this house.
No – I need this house. We need this house.
Back in reality, I focussed again on the line and began
signing my name. With each swirl of my cursive handwriting, I thought of
another reason why I wanted to spend this money on other things. I’ve actually
never spent this amount of money on anything before; the most expensive thing I
have ever bought was my laptop and that came out around £400. Still, my
sensible side got the better of me as I finished up, and passed the pen to Dan
sitting next to me. It was his turn to panic now.
But as I watched Dan go through the same process I had just
been through, I exhaled. The tension in between my shoulders eased as I rolled
my neck. This wasn’t so bad; maybe this
actually was me growing up. I’m signing contracts. I’m getting my own house.
I’ve got a house.
