January has zoomed by, and February is already here, biting me in the bum, with it’s nippy Jack Russell of love, St Valentine’s.  Aaahh, another year, another glorious reminder that no-one, quite frankly, wants to take me on.  Use of battle language, entirely deliberate.  Come aahhhnnnnn, pudem up.

But I’ve been too busy to think of the menfolk, (well, not entirely.  Never entirely.)  Busy as a busy thing in busy town, doing busy stuff, and telling all the folks just exactly how busy I’ve been.  For the fourth time in my life, I’ve grown up, and only gone and got me my own place.  I’d been thinking about moving for a while, and after Christmas in Welsh Wales, and wee spot of reflection, I realised that I was most definitely staying put in Barcelona.  For the foreseeable future at least.  This assertion seemed to indicate a good point in my life to find a place of my own, and start laying down some foundations here, instead of living in one room, with no space to expand.  Both physically and emotionally.

My new doorstep

So, fast foward to last Thursday, when I made the final trip between my old place, and the new one.  Slap bang in the middle of the city, in El Gotico.   The flat suits me perfectly, being old, decrepid and more than a touch chilly.  It’s like we’re soulmates.  It feels good, and I’ve overcome some more hurdles this last month.  Namely, an abject fear of being completely responsible for everything once again.  Me and responsibility are strange bedfellows.  Moreso, I find, as I’ve got older.

I will miss the fun times with my flatmate, chats in the kitchen in our pjs, man chat and the like, but I know that I have found a great friend for life. So nothing changes there. Life’s funny like that.

Growing up #4 – living alone in Barcelona

Growing up #3 – buying and selling a house in Liverpool

Growing up #2 – divorce (1999) oops

Growing up #1 – marriage (1997)

I think I like this growing up the best so far.