Mrs Mortgage

Being grown up. It's a whole new world. A brave new world, if you please.

Still in your teens? Or sitting pretty with your BMW and your regular holiday on your SEO expert salary?

Let's indulge you with the sort of things I'm doing DAILY as I enter the world of mortgages.

Number one. You know when you're younger and you say 'when I get my house it's going to be like x, y and z.' ( You probably said this aged 12, so your idea of décor stretched I imagine, to lots of pink. And fluff. And lava lamps. )

Forget this right now. Along with the perfect man - but more on him in a paragraph's time.

You need a husk. A shell. And kids, by the time YOU get on the mortgage ladder- you'll have probably sold your nan to get there. Set your standards LOW. Low? Now lower them.

Want a gate? An actual driveway and a gate? Forgeddaboutit. In the year 2030 you'll be living in some sort of cage that have been converted from those boxes you take dogs to the vets in. You'll have an exercise wheel and a water drip.

This sounds negative. Don't think that. My first house is a bargain. I love it. even with it's coving and awful wallpaper and strange stains and 1 ply carpet that can't even pronounce 'pile'.

But getting it perfect isn't even on my radar. Try 'alllll-right' and 'could mayyyybe invite friends over' decent.

I've started researching ways of covering the coving. Painting over things. Making do. Sticking with. Stippling.

(Ask your mum. She probably stippled in between doing those bowl haircuts and plotting to give you a 'thick ear' when you were naughty. I digress.)

Number two. Hoarding. YOU WILL HAVE TO LIVE WITH THIS AS A HETROSEXUAL WOMAN. There. It's out there. Like farts in the sleep, burping, meat sweats and a tendancy to vanish for hours on end to boot a rugby ball about and shower with other men afterwards, I have to sort his STUFF out. Or we would be covered in paper, and clips, and CD-ROMS and old copies of 'Top Gun' and Enemy at the Gates.

Have you guessed? My boyfriend is an obsessive hoarder.

Things I've tried to throw away this week:

- Paperbacks he doesn't even LIKE.

- Uni manuals on C++ and ASP.net written in 2003. "Code doesn't change".

-Old socks and pants with holes I could (don't want to) put my face in.

-An old football 5 a side trophy from a team he doesn't play in any more.

-Candles we never light because i'm a fire hazard. Note - these are mine.

-Shirts he doesn't fit- or things that look, frankly, crazy. Probably looked good in college. 2000 was 12 Years ago. Count them up.*

He also suggested I keep my recipe book 'In case I start making cupcakes'.

I like cupcakes as much as the next girl who gave up being a size 8 when Winehouse was still kicking back with some spirits. I love eating them. Nommy. Cooking them? Nah. Why put a tray with a calorie content of 50,000 in front of me? I don't have a brood of hungry young 'uns to feed. Just me and him.

He'l have to get a ring on it before I put a case on it. (Heh.)

So my life today.

Carpets. Stains. Secretive binning.

Kids, don't say I didn't warn you.

*NB I love 'him' dearly. It's our 3 year anniversary next week. I love you regardless of hoarding. **

**Blergh!