New nests

In the last couple of months, all of my children have moved house into proper civilised flats. Still rentals rather than the distant glittering dream of a mortgage. But definitely smarter than in the past. 

It seems like just yesterday we were dragging new bedding into university halls of residence (or not, in the case of Carenza who forgot hers).  I had a really bad back at that point, so while Nigel hauled a massive suitcase of clothes I would carry a pack of paperclips.

Perhaps because of such past uselessness, none of the children involved me in their move this time.

It felt weird.

 

I wanted to see where they were living.  Help them settle in.  It is a basic Mum function. 

At a very primitive level, I have a need to interfere with their interior design.

I have now managed to blag my way into Perran and Carenza’s flat, and mighty fine it is.  I think they wanted to hold off until it was perfect – being new householders, they don’t realise yet that it will never be perfect. But I was still impressed.

And I have a ticket to go to Edinburgh in November. Pascoe thinks I am coming to see him, but in fact, it is his flat that I am interested in.

On Skype, Pascoe tells me he has been enjoying watching the antlike continuous parade of new Edinburgh students entering Wilkinsons and leaving with an armful of essentials which ALWAYS includes a clothes airer.

“That was us once,” I say.