Move Your A**

I’m aware this whole “Carolann moves to Brighton” saga is becoming tedious and I haven’t even started uni yet.

After moving to Brighton, I wanted to make a “moving in” post, but I didn’t know quite what to say. Every blog post I’ve read seems to be a continuous humdrum of people realising just how few matching pairs of socks they own, and the struggle of which décor to choose – shabby chic or kinky sex dungeon? And no, Brenda, I don’t care how many houseplants you think is too many houseplants.

It turns out that even after making an awe-inspiring list of 21 things I have learned in my life, I don’t know everything. If I did know everything, it would probably be a lot easier to find another job, meaning I’d make my rent and then some. Maybe I’d even write about something other than myself (I forgot to mention, I taught myself how to rewire a vacuum cleaner and fix a printer. I’m like a DIY goddess. Please hire me.)

I can’t write the recipes I planned on writing since I’m either avoiding the kitchen entirely (we have quite frequent rodent visitors) or eating an entire brioche loaf because it’s cheaper than a bag of spinach. But I like it.

Oh, did you think I was complaining?

I kind of like that I can’t do the type of things I used to do. I’ve pushed myself out of a constant routine that would’ve probably made me lose my mind. I have no clue what I’m doing – and that’s okay. It would be nice to buy some spinach though (wink wink).

Anyway, that’s my update and I figured I’d post some piccies of the flat too so here you go.