Look left, look right, look straight ahead. Can you confirm that we are alone? If the answer is yes, then read on.
Technically, I am supposed to be helping my friend Sophie move house, but after packing and packaging galore, I needed a moment to escape where I would not find myself in close proximity to that icky coloured brown tape. You know the stuff; stick it to your arm like a home waxing kit... only it never works does it? In fact, it's rather painful (understatement of the century). Why I know this is beyond me, because I've never got rather bored and stuck a load of tape over my arms to see what happens... never....
Ah, who am I convincing?
Of course I've done that! I am- naturally, talking from experience, which therefore allows me to provide the best pain quantifier there is. NOTE: If there are any children reading this, do not try this at home. Also, do not tell your parents that I told you about this as it is not an experience that would impress them were they to become 'guinea pigs'. Many thanks. Your discretion is duly noted.
But moving on I think! Sophie doesn't actually know where I am. As far as she's concerned, I've just popped back to my house for 'the loo'. I thought I'd be incognito. But with hindsight, I have realised that when she notices I have been absent for an hour or more, she will only assume that I have been slacking. And I wouldn't want her to think that I've been a bad friend because I have abandoned her in her hour of need... which I haven't. I mean, it's not like I'm really skiving because my mind is still house-occupied. I think I'll just have to say to Sophie that I'm in dire need of some figs and fibre and... well you get the gist of things. That way it seems like I've got a case of stubborn number two's that wish to remain with me. (I'll leave it at that before things become too explicit and require a '12' rating and I lose my 'PG' certification).
So, I got thinking as I helped Sophie pack up all her things. To be honest, it wasn't the funnest of times we've spent. Last month, she broke up with her boyfriend. They'd been together since we were about 16- less than five years later they'd moved in together in a nice little flat round the corner from me. Two years after that they got engaged, but Sophie's just found out that Brad has had an indiscretion. I won't say anymore as if she reads this, she might get a bit upset. Needless to say, he wasn't very well behaved. So, after 10 years, Sophie and Brad are parting ways. It's quite sad really, made worse by the fact that I've known them both for over 20 years. But I guess it just wasn't meant to be.
Sophie's found herself a lovely new flat and I agreed to help her do it up. (Sensible really, because now it appears to Mum that I am at least on the search for work). We've been through colour charts and stuff and I've helped her design a Mil-and-Soph-ified fabulous abode. It is not humble in the slightest.
At the moment, the removal men are having a late lunch. When I left, Sophie had her nose buried in the latest edition of OK- she wanted to commit to memory the most spectacular wedding of the century, so I left her to it. I saw no point in reading the magazine myself when I know that later on, she's going to go through it cover to cover with me with a commentary to ensure we DON'T MISS A THING.
I'd best be off in a minute- hopefully Kate and William will have enthralled her enough for her not to notice my absence!
Anyway, what I was going to tell you was that over the last few days, I have realised that home isn't the building you live in or what you have. It's what you make it. The other stuff is just accessories. I look at Sophie and see all the unnecessary things that we have packed into a dozen boxes and I realise that I don't need half of the stuff I've got. All I need is myself, because it doesn't matter where I am, where Sophie is or where you are. Isn't home the same for everyone? For I have learnt that home really truly is where the heart is- an ethos I am sure I share with the snails that survive the tribulations of human feet antics. After all, their home is on their person (rather, snail) at all times.
Mildred
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