The Passage Of Time

I’m not generally one for reviewing the year that’s gone by, and I definitely don’t make New Year’s resolutions anymore, but it does feel like 2023 requires a little more reflection than usual. I guess once days and years pass into the rear-view mirror then a year can be condensed into one or two big events that stay in the memory.

So for me moving house is the big one for 2023. I’ve already written a fair amount about it, but having been here for 9 months now, I still wouldn’t say I feel entirely settled in. That’s mainly because I live a curious hybrid existence. Over this month and last I’ve probably spent a third of my nights here. The rest are at Dad’s as I commute to work from there. I haven’t really made the final jump. Commuting daily from here is an impossibility on my budget, and I can’t afford a car for the same reason, so the ideal scenario would be to get a job closer to home. I’ve been keeping an eye open but it’s been slim pickings for weeks, so I just keep doing the same and picking up my pay packet at the end of the month.

For this reason the move doesn’t feel as momentous as it might have done. It sort of feels like my holiday home. Financial constraints mean I haven’t been able to do everything with it I would like to, which adds to the slightly alien feel of the place. None of this is to say I regret the move, I’m very glad I’ve done it. 18 months ago the process of owning my own flat was in its infancy – I never thought that I’d end up where I have, but being by the coast is exactly where I wanted to end up, and I’m kind of proud that I’ve made it happen.

I’m looking forward to the holiday season more than usual this year too, as it’s the first in a while when our small family will be together. My sister is hosting, there will be good food and wine and some excellent games in order, and of course doing the rounds with friends is always a pleasure. It’s been a hard year work-wise, and to have this time feels like a reward, and one that’s deserved. A Merry Christmas to all.

Pondering and the Season

As it’s late in the year, I’m in a mad scramble to use up my remaining day of holiday before I lost them once 2024 gets here. Originally I had plans for these two days, but as they tend to do, these changed, so I’ve got two days in the flat with no money and not much to do. And so far it’s actually been pretty nice. I’ve already documented the current chaos with my job, and that hasn’t gotten any better in the last month, and I’m pretty emotionally and mentally drained. So this unplanned two days of relaxation has come at a welcome moment.

It’s one of those cold, but sunny winter afternoons here, and I’ve just come back from a walk along the beach. Pretty sparsely populated, as the wind has quite a bite, but those who braved it were rewarded with a complex sky that drew in the eye, and that cleansing feeling that only a coastal walk can provide. Now I sit and write these words and stop to gaze out the window and ponder, as dog walkers head across the green and the sun starts to dip towards the horizon. I’ll probably read for a bit once this is done, then have an early dinner and a glass of wine. All very middle-aged, very boring, but exactly what I’ve needed.

A Christmas tree sits in the corner of the room. One of those small ones from Sainsbury’s, sparsely decorated with a few bits I borrowed from Dad’s collection. I’ll turn the lights on in a bit, once it gets dark. I’m not expecting any visitors over the Christmas period, so the only eyes who will see this scene will be mine. And yet I don’t mind. I guess it symbolises more than the season. My first in this flat, which I own. Something that shows that despite all the financial and mental struggles I have, I can still celebrate the time of year. For the first time in years I’ll be with all my close family on Christmas Day, and I’m really looking forward to it. It seems to matter more, the older I get.

So amongst the hustle and bustle it’s been great to have a fleeting moment to relax and reflect. I’ve always been terrible at counting my blessings, but right now I’m grateful.

Back and Forth

So I’ve been in the flat two months now, and I’m starting to settle in both physically and mentally. The painting’s all done now, so the next focus is to furnish the place. And I have to admit I have my eye on some extravagant and expensive bookcases. I’ve always wanted a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, ostentatious, polished wood with heavy shelves and weird and wonderful bookends. This dream is obviously something I’m unable to afford, but I’ve been thinking about that, and that’s part of the point of owning your own place, surely? Being able to deck it out with the odd over-the-top purchase. I’d sacrifice having a comfortable bed for a bookcase. I know it can’t be number one priority as there are more essential things to sort out first, but my resolve to splash out is hardening every day. Watch this space.

What I am finding it difficult to come to terms with is the back and forth between the flat, My Dad’s and work. Basically I work a couple of hours away from Littlehampton, and that commute at those prices is something I do not want to consider. So on my office days I stay at Dad’s and travel up from there. I try and do my two office days a week in a row, so this means I spend long stretches of time away from the flat. I don’t mind so much, it gives me the opportunity to keep an eye on Dad and to catch up with friends when I want, but it isn’t ideal. Lugging my laptop and clothes from one place to another is tedious, and for some reason my sleep is poor at the moment, so tiredness is pretty much a constant.

As such my enthusiasm to get back writing isn’t very high. This is probably the longest stretch I’ve gone without working on something for at least a decade. Most evenings I’m happy to read and watch a bit of TV, and the thought of starting another novel seems crazy. I’m further away from that than ever. And the funny thing is, at the moment, I’m OK with that. My lifestyle isn’t conducive to long sessions of writing as I’m always on the move, and I’m still scarred but the whole experience of the last one. I’m dreading the moment when I decide to take a look at that manuscript again. And I guess I have more to think about now, in a new town with new stuff to do. So it seems I’m not in a big hurry to get back to it. Which has come as something of a surprise. I’m sure the time will come when, even if out of boredom, I drag myself back to the blank page. I’ll just have to wait and see.

Room with a View

So, it’s finally happened. I’m officially on the property ladder. I still find it quite a surreal state of affairs, that the bricks and mortar are technically mine (it’s only a share of the freehold, but allow me to dream…). Having been here nearly three weeks I’m still not at the settled-in stage, there’s a ton of painting to be done, plus a load of other changes I’d like to make if time and money were no object, but I’m getting there. For a while I went through various stages of buyers remorse, and exhilaration, then panic at all the extra financial responsibility that I have, but hey, I’m a middle-aged man, I’m sure I can cope. Softly softly wins the war and all that.

What I’m really enthused about, and was drawn to the first time I ever set foot in the door, was the view from the lounge.

That’s pretty much the view as I write. It’s not a particularly great shot, and they have been repairing the potholes on the street this afternoon, but just beyond the green area of park is the promenade, and after that, the English Channel. So the sea is no more than 500m from this very spot.

Having the beach in close proximity was a must for me. I find it enormously comforting to be within walking distance of the ocean. I can walk onto the sand, feel the wind on my face, hear the roar of the waves crashing against the shore, and feel instantly better. I like knowing that the same action has played out millions of times of thousands of years, and will carry on doing so for millennia to come. It helps put my worries into perspective, and reminds me that life goes on, we are the tiniest of grains of sand on the beach of the Earth, that being here is a miracle, and in the grand scheme of things, utterly inconsequential. That sense of place keeps me grounded.

How this will effect my writing I’ve no idea. I suppose the possibility exists that I will spend more time looking out of the window and daydreaming, but that usually happens when the initial idea is ropey anyway. I’m hoping the change of scenery will prove stimulating, but nothing has come of it as yet. After the debacle of the completion of novel six I feel I need further time to put some distance between myself and it, and I’d like to have the flat fully re-painted before I even attempt anything fresh. I have the first draft of novel five to re-write, so I think that will be my way in, at least knowing that one day I did complete something and feel happy with it. Hopefully that will spark something. If not there is always more decorating to be done!