My first place after the separation was a two-bedroom apartment. Really, one bedroom and one glorified study, in a complex modelled on a European village. Very Positano. Movies have actually been shot there because it’s so ‘authentic’. Very Gold Coast.
It overlooked a man-made lake with a family of swans that paddled up every morning for bread from the locals. Swans mate for life. The irony was not lost on me.
On the first night, I called my mum and my sister. Then I ran around the apartment squealing like a kid at Christmas.
It wasn’t big. It wasn’t grand. But every decision in it was mine: where the couch went, what time the lights went off, whether dinner was a cheese plate eaten standing up. Nobody to consult. Nobody to compromise with. It’s a strange thing, discovering that the smallest home you’ve ever lived in can feel like the most space you’ve ever had.
If you’re about to have your own first night, here’s what I’d hand you.
The first-night box
Pack one box you open first: sheets, a towel, toilet paper, phone charger, kettle, mug, snacks, a candle. You will not find anything else on night one.
Before you move
- Book the removalist (or bribe your friends with pizza)
- Connect electricity, gas and internet in advance
- Update your address and set up mail redirection
- Measure the doorways before you buy the couch
Week one
- Bed first. Everything is better after a good sleep.
- Curtains or blinds second. Trust me.
- Unpack the kitchen, then stop for a day.
Make it yours slowly
You don’t need to fill every room at once. Live in it for a while and notice what you actually need, rather than what the old house had.
Leave a corner empty if you like. Nobody’s grading it, and you’re allowed to take your time working out what goes there. Besides, the squealing phase doesn’t need furniture.
Everything I’d buy again is in New Place, New Plot.
xox Meghan
