A Room of One's Own

It seems that each week we are here in our new life in Americaland we move a step closer to being Properly Settled In. Nested, maybe.


The first week it was the connection of the internet.
Getting my own car was certainly a biggie; options for public transport out in the suburbs are severely limited to non-existent. We are now a two-car family, which feels very strange and not a little guilt-inducing.

Last week the acquisition of my own desk and chair caused great jubilation (biscuits were consumed with gay abandon). A friend mentioned he had them mouldering away in his garage and would be grateful if I could take them off his hands. No further encouragement was needed and they were quickly installed in the little bedroom, henceforth known as Jen's Study. Yes, I had a room of my own, and Virginia Woolf posted her congratulations up on my Facebook page.

It is further from the kettle than the kitchen table where I used to write, but it doesn't cause back pain after a day of typing, which has to be an improvement. My friend will have to get an acknowledgement when I finally publish a novel.

You may notice the study is a little bare. It has all the important details: laptop, tea, etc., but our shipping is yet to arrive so the pictures and books will be moving in at a later date. The ship has now docked but the boxes have to clear Customs, a terrifying prospect. If my four mega-boxes of Yorkshire Tea or supply of Cadbury's doesn't get through I'll be marching down there with a sharp stick, I tell thee.