Now Playing: the dirty three - whatever you love, you are
In three weeks I will be giving up my life of solitude. My life within these walls alone.
For the first time after four years and one month I will have a housemate. I will be moving. This will officially be the third longest period I've lived in one premises in my life. And only a few months short of my longest relationship to date.
Anyone who knows me knows I don't take sharing a home lightly. I love living alone. The freedom to do what I want, whenever I want, in as little clothing as I want (and that the weather will allow) without observation, interruption or judgment from anyone else (except maybe my neighbours if they happen to be nosy and looking through my not-so-concealing fence without my knowledge).
So I've been cherishing my backyard with its long, overgrown grass which retains a me-shaped outline after I lie in it. The me-shape still remaining from my shoot with Formalde two weekends ago. And the itch of the grass against my back and legs as I lay naked on it at two and a half minutes to midnight on a Friday night. The grass wet from the afternoon's heavy rain, the light from the streetlamp illuminating me as the chill night air drifts across my skin.
Within the next week I'll pay a gardener to cut the grass back and the me-shape will disappear or at least become less obvious. In a month there'll be scarcely a speck of evidence of my having lived here.
And despite my usual reluctance to share my personal space with others on a full time basis I'm actually looking forward to taking up residence with Karen
and her slobbering Rottweiler, Vulpe. I'm looking forward to painting my new bedroom and study, taking photographs in a new place (though I've photographed Karen there before), making my new unconventional bedroom my home and setting up a makeshift studio.
This Eastender is moving Westside.