Thanks for... my home

Barely a month goes by when I don't stop and wonder at the good luck and good timing that brought me my home.

There's nothing palatial about it, obviously, being an ex-local authority flat in Addlestone, but I often wonder what might have been...

When I was pregnant with Thomas I was living in Bromley (in Kent), renting a room from a friend-of-a-friend. We got on well and the flat was a short walk to the station, so an easy commute to my Covent Garden-based job. However, with a baby on the way and life as a single parent ahead of me, I knew I had to move back closer to my parents.

By a happy coincidence, my then hairdresser told me he was selling his flat and would I like to take a look? If I was interested, we could bypass the estate agent and do a deal. The pressure was on for me to like the place, and with only a ten minute viewing I knew it was going to work out. (It's incredible how short a time it took me to make that decision when it usually takes me twice as long to choose a sandwich in Tescos...!) The fact was that I was limited in my options, so unless there was something very wrong with it, I was going to love it.

The price was good, it had just been double-glazed and he was leaving all the kitchen appliances. In addition to that, it's a short walk to the town centre and is on the ground floor - no stairs and some garden - so it was a no-brainer.

The fates continued to look favourably upon me when PT got a new job in Weybridge and would need a place to live when he moved down from North London. He moved in and shared the costs in the difficult first year after Thomas was born. It was an arrangement that suited us both perfectly, and the timing couldn't have been better. (I say it suited us both perfectly, but I'm making an assumption that it suited PT as much as it suited me. Of course, the brand new baby - with all the noise and smells that come with - and my annoying habit of talking all through football matches might mean that PT sees things in a slightly different light...)

Thomas was born on 6th June 1996, and I exchanged contracts on the flat about a week after that. PT started his job on, or about, the 1st July, so we had a couple of weeks to slap on a coat of paint and hang curtains before moving in. It all fell into place rather neatly (ignoring the usual house-buying/birth-giving stresses, of course).

I've never really been one for looking ahead, but back then I suppose I'd have been surprised if you'd told me I'd still be here (and happy to be here) 12 years later (and still with the same curtains!). Sometimes I think it would be nice to have a house. Often I think it would be nice to have parking. But over the years I've never been able to justify the expense and hassle of moving when we've really got everything we need right here. That's not to say I wouldn't be out like a shot if (when) I get my lottery win, but until that happens, the place that has kept me and mine safe and secure when I needed it most will remain the place I call 'home'.

(I just wish my upstairs neighbour didn't own a drum kit...)