On the joys of flatting

I’ve been flatting on and off for the last 12 years. I moved out of home at 18 like many teens with inconveniently placed parental homes. And like most people I’ve ended up back there a couple of times too. After having some massive changes at our current flat, and with the prospect on owning my (our) own home looming I thought it would be interesting to work out how many people I’ve flatted with over the years. The number is 44. That’s quite a lot of people.

Now that number isn’t taking into account people I’ve liked so much I’ve lived with them twice (Mindy, Steph, Josh and now Sam). It also doesn’t take into account when I lived with my boyfriend Vincent and his family (which would add 7 people to the tally). It doesn’t include moving back home with Mum and other family members or the times when you stay at your boyfriends flat a whole lot but you don’t actually ‘live’ there. It does take into account the flat in London, but only because I realised I’d lived with those guys for longer than some of my actual flatmates and I cleaned that house so it counts.

I’ve been living in Kiwi Road in Pt Chev for about three and a half years now. It’s the longest I’ve lived anywhere for since I left home. In this house alone I’ve lived with 15 people over the years. Some folks have lived here for the long haul – Tien and Terry were here about a year and a half, and some of the young un’s, like Prabu, only stayed about a month. I now live with my husband, my friend Sam has just moved in, and soon a new number 45 will move in.

This number might terrify those in older generations who never experienced ‘flatting’, or even those in my generation who got married or kidded up early on. To be honest though, for folks like me that have been flatting for a while, it won’t be the largest number floating around. Murray reckons his number is close to 30. What might terrify some people even more is that people like me are now so used to living with others, that the idea of living alone with a partner is a pretty strange concept.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m really looking forward to it. It’ll be our house so we can do what we want to it. We’ll only have to clean up after ourselves. We won’t have to listen to loud annoying music at weird hours. But Murray feels differently. He’s already asked about getting a boarder in and we haven’t even found a house yet. He’s so acclimatised to living with other people, having other noise in the house, having someone to converse with if you feel like it, that not having those people around seems a bit odd. He’s always lived with other people. I haven’t. I lived alone for a year when I was 20 and loved it. I also spent much of my childhood on an isolated farm in the middle of nowhere. Murray grew up in the suburbs. Although I’m the ‘social’ one of the two of us, I love me some space.

My favourite thing about living with so many people has been seeing new ways to eat food. I’ve lived with people from so many places; England, the US, Malaysia, Sri Lanka, South Africa. Even other regular Jo Bloggs Kiwi’s have taught me a thing or two new about food. Living in the Sunnyside road flat I learned that I LOVED roast parsnips and garlic. I’ve learned how easy it is to make a Thai curry, which was quickly added to my cooking repertoire. I’ve leant about salting eggplants. I’ve learnt about the joy of rice cookers. It may sound banal, but without flatting with so many people I’m sure my culinary skills wouldn’t be quite what they are now. And I love food, so this is quite important to me.

I’ve also enjoyed being exposed to so many different types of flats. The Pirate Flat in Surrey Cres where Darcy had a wood turning workshop under the house and a living room full of plastic animals, paintings and chairs hanging from the ceiling. I had a friend stay over once and he was too scared to sleep in the lounge because the animals were 'looking' at him. Sunnyside road, where there were always at least 6 wonderful people over for dinner, even though only 4 of us lived there. Sara’s place at Keppell street; the crash flat from ‘Nam. And Kiwi Road, which has seen such a wide array of people from art students, to Monday night DJ’s, IT geeks, engineers and a blacksmith. The diversity of flatting means your life is always altered in interesting, unexpected ways.

As you get older though, flatting does get harder. When I was 20 I didn’t really care when I went to bed, who was staying over or how much washing there was to do. Now I’m 30 I have a job, a husband, a budget and a need for some semblance of routine. Now if someone keeps me up until 1am on a ‘school night’ I get a bit cranky because I have to wake up in 6 hours time for a 9 hour work day. Many folks still flatting at our age are looking for that party flat. We are not a party flat. We’re like many in our generation who are still flatting as it’s the most financially viable option while we save for our independence. We had the ultimate flat balance for a while, but the thing about flatting is that balance is always fleeting; flats are in a constant state of flux. Once you’ve got used to balance, it’s extremely tricky to go back to 1am wake up calls from noise-some flatmates, or to anal flatmates that require constantly pristine cohabitation conditions. This is why I am really looking forward to finally finding a home of our own.

I can completely understand Murray’s desire to live with others. And I’ve said that after maybe six months of ‘just us’ we can think about it. The thing is, with not needing anyone financially to fill the gap we can wait until Mr or Miss Right comes along. There’s no rush. And MAYBE after six months of living in quiet time where there are never any dishes that aren’t ours, bedtimes of our choosing, and the potential for late night living room Playstation romps which disturb no-one, he might change his mind….

On getting older

I turned 30 just over a week ago. I had a lovely quiet day at work, followed by a quiet night at home with my wonderful husband having had TWO parties preceding that: one with my friends and one with my family. I’m an incredibly lucky girl. 30’s no big deal. It’s just another year, just a different number. People still think I’m twenty half of the time, which I’m sure helps me not feel like I’m any older I still get ID’ed when going to bars I haven’t been to before. I’m so thankful to whoever I got these youthful genetics from. They’re bloody awesome!

Despite 30 just being a number (which it is) and me still appearing youthful (which I do), there are little things that remind me that I’m getting older. I’ve noticed that the older you get, the more time seems to speed up. It’s probably something to do with developing routines (which is useful), so the weeks just fly by. I'm sure yesterday was Friday, but now it's Wednesday. It's somewhat disconcerting. I was just planning my Civil Union. I just got home from my honeymoon. But actually, it’s now not even four months off Christmas. Before I know it it’ll be our first ‘Union’ anniversary. Before I know it I’ll be 40.

The funny thing about time is that it never does what you want. When you’re a kid you are just waiting to get older, and it seems to take forever. Now I just wish time could slow down. There aren’t enough hours in the day to get things done. Even worse, especially when you’re a woman, you’re kind of on a clock.

If you’ve ever conceived of procreating, you’ve generally set some goals around it. When I was in my early 20’s, the cut off date for babies was 25. Because I was never the cluckiest girl in the world, I wasn’t upset when I turned 25 and had no babies. I was so certain about not getting sprogged up that a few years ago I became an egg donor. Just because I didn’t want any, didn’t mean I didn’t want anyone else to have any. If you want to be an egg donor and don’t already have kids, they’ll only let you do it if you’re never planning on having any. I wasn’t. Now I’m 30 and have a wonderful husband and some financial stability, I’ve been reconsidering the baby cut off date. I think Murray and I would be great parents. I also think we need to own a home first. So now the baby cut off date is getting pushed back. It’s hard, I don’t want to be an older parent, but if I’m going to be a parent at all, that’s the only option I have.

I know that more and more people are having their first kids in their 30’s (although according to recent stats, that’s actually changing). But there are other things in the back of my mind. When my mum was about my age, she had a hysterectomy. I had an ectopic pregnancy when I was 20, and although I’ve had scans and everything’s fine in my tubular zone (you get a million scans when you decide to be an egg donor), it’s always in the back of my head. I also have a retroverted uterus. Won't affect anything, completely useless information really, but retroverted is a cool word.

The other thing in the back of my head is the voice of friends and collegues saying ‘Don’t do it when you’re 37! It’s bloody hard.’ And ‘It was so much easier when I was in my 20’s’. And then the other thing in the back of my head is that older parents are kind of lame. I had young parents, and they weren’t perfect by any means, but they were cool. They listened to Pink Floyd, and Led Zepplin, whereas my friends' older parents listened to Elvis, Cliff Richard, classic hits and opera. My parents played backyard cricket with us. I don’t know how easy it is to do that when you’ve had kids in your late 30’s and have RSI and back problems. I don’t want to be a decrepit parent and I don’t want to be out of touch with my kids.

And I can see that happening, because I’m already out of touch with kids these days. Even though we’re the generation raised on computers, technology moves so fast, and I care so little about it, that I have no idea what’s going on half the time. What’s worse is that I don’t care. I don’t care about ‘apps’. I don’t even have a phone that can take pictures, or has internet, or even pixt capability. I only learnt to use email at 18 because I had to use it for work. The only driver behind my having any technological skills at all has been requiring them for my jobs. I’m really a total luddite. I still find it odd that I can type fast, run a website (through a system mind you) and know how to program basic HTML. I don’t even really understand how computers work at all, except they’re apparently a bit like a complex abacus that somehow files information.

And even the kids that don’t like computers like other things I don’t understand. I don’t understand spending large amounts of money on toys when kids are quite capable of amusing themselves. I grew up on a farm, with no money but lots of imagination, and can already hear myself doing the whole ‘When I was your age… (insert seemingly ridiculous comment here)’ thing. Who wants a parent like that? And I don’t understand things like Hannah Montana, or Justin Beiber or LMFAO, or modern ‘dance’ music. What’s up with all that stuff? Does that mean I won’t be a ‘cool’ parent like my parents were?

Murray took me to see Dylan Moran for my 30^th birthday present. It was wonderful. The only problem was the drunk 50+ year olds sitting next to Murray who rudely talked through the entire first half, then, on returning from half time spilt half a drink down the back of a chair (and person) in front of us. It was truly appalling. What was equally appalling was me bitching about it like a grumpy old person. Moments like that are moments when you realise you are getting old. Probably because you aren't the drunk annoying person.

I do actually quite enjoy the whole process of getting older. I like ranting about stuff almost no-one cares about. I like remembering the 90’s. I like bitching about politics. I like being a technophobe. I like knowing my cholesterol isn't too high. And Dylan Moran's an older parent. And he's cool. I know for at least a little while, I was pretty cool too –I was once in ‘a band’ and I did an art degree – you can’t argue with that evidence of cool. Dylan Moran's kids probably don't think he's cool. They probably think he's a grumpy old man. If we have kids, they probably won’t think I’m cool either, but I’ll know I was cool, and, hopefully, my friends will still think I'm cool and I guess that's what matters. In all honesty I’ll probably always think I’m cool. That’s probably even lamer than trying to be cool.

I better stop writing now. It's almost 10pm and I need to read my book and go to sleep.