As anyone who popped by this blog yesterday will know, today is the two year anniversary of me getting the keys to my flat.
This weekend is also the first time in two years when there have been no important, expensive home repairs hanging over my head: the loft has been insulated (above and beyond the two inches of dust); the shower has been installed; the roof has been repaired, front and back; the pipes have been lagged and the hot water tank jacketed; the windows have been replaced; three damaged areas of sloping ceiling have been (or are in the process of being) replastered; the doorbell and door release have been repaired; finally, the chimney is booked in for a major overhaul which – because it’s on the outside and I can’t actually see any problems – in my head means that it’s done.
I’ll admit, there have been moments over the past two years when I’ve wanted to give up and sell the place. The first was within moments of putting the key in the lock for the first time, coming in to find the place full of the previous owner’s abandoned furniture, to realise just how filthy a flat could be, to wonder where on earth that awful smell was coming from (who ever heard of a garbage disposal in the UK?!). I had a few minutes of, “What have I done?!” But none of the stressful, stick-the-flat-on-the-market moments were because I no longer loved my home; they were because expensive, unfamiliar repairs seemed so unmanageable I didn’t know where to start.
I stuck it out and it was worth it (fingers crossed the pipes don’t explode tonight!). I love my little flat.
Anyway, last year, on my first anniversary of owning this place, I decided to have a great big tidy up, clear out, blitz of unfinished paint jobs and DIY projects. It happened to coincide with Apartment Therapy’s Spring Cure which really helped to focus me.
This year, on the second anniversary, I thought I’d (actually, we’d, given that Steve moved in in September) do the same again. More on that to follow; for now, I thought I’d show you some before pictures of the place.
I do wish I’d taken photos of the grimy, ghastly peach pit I first walked into but I was in such a rush to clean up and paint the walls I didn’t bother; these were taken a few weeks after moving in so, with the exception of the living room, the colours are all my own.