The Moving Times Of Caroline Proudly

28 Twine Close

Where I finished up was not really a choice. Based on my 'A' level results it was more of the only option. It was as far north as I had ever been before. All I knew about the place was the College gave out unconditional degree offers to mature students. The College kindly found me suitable accommodation 'in a modern house with two other female students.' With Betsa, my Ford, crammed full, and her engine half hanging out, we roared slowly up to Hullenshire. I followed the meticulous instructions to 28 Twine Close and discovered that Gitterlums was well away from the centre of town and a hideous area consisting mainly of run down, 1970's housing. Betsa's poor health and rusting bodywork made her fit in with the rest of the cars parked in Twine Close. The only difference was she had four wheels to rest on, whilst lots of the others relied on bricks. A mid-aged Chinese landlady with a thick Hullenshire accent, which didn't work well with her pretty, oriental looks greeted me. During the guided tour she left out one room, tapping on its door as we passed. She explained that she often popped back from work at lunchtime at that room was hers. Not that excited about her popping in and out, or what I had seen of the neighbourhood. I wondered how long it would be before I moved out. With the car still loaded up, I considered whether I should skip Gitterlums completely and try to find somewhere better. Deciding that I should at least give it a go and not make any rash decisions, I begrudgingly emptied Betsa's content into my chosen bedroom.

The other two girls moved in later that same day. Rachael was from Blackpool and Jacki was from Essex. As I helped them carry things, I listened to their parent's advice on how to carry multiple items. It was clear that in both cases they were first-time movers. When it was time for them to say officially good-bye to home cooking and home comforts, I made myself scarce. I stayed in my room until I heard '...and lock the door behind us. Love you!' And then the bang as the door slammed closed. I half expected to find them both in tears. Jacki did look down in the mouth, but Rachael was happy and more concerned about whether I had a fag she could have, than the departure of her parents.

Term started and I studiously ploughed over my books. At lunchtimes on a daily Monday to Friday basis, shrieks of laughter of a man and a woman came from the landlady's room. Their flushed cheeks and ruffled up hair, made the three of us doubt that they sat telling jokes to each other over a sandwich. As it happened, apart from the noise, the landlady's coming and going didn't disturb any of us at all. I explored my new area a little and discovered that the only pub nearby was frequented by tattooed 16-year-old lads, who looked like they were probably the local tyre jackers. There was a small shop which sold 'Happy Shopper' everything but at Fortnum & Mason prices and had one of its' employees as a door man to enforce its 'no more than 2 school kids at a time' policy. Next to that was a closed down shop whose metal shutters had the words 'No Sleep til Gitterlums' spray painted on them. All my newly made friends had accommodation in the centre of town. The fact that to get into town was a £30 round taxi trip, and I had no intention of drinking 10 litres of coke whilst they drank the equivalent in lager, meant that I missed out on their big nights out. As they swapped anecdotes, I sat in a boring jealous silence.

Somehow, by chance, I noticed that property prices in Hullen were about one zero less than they were in Fitchester. Several nights plotting, scheming and calculating made me realise that unless all the estate agents' windows had a consistent error in pricing, the answer was to buy. Jacki and Rachael were up to moving in with me if the place was right. They also had a friend, Laura, who wanted to move in if there were going to be enough bedrooms to house all of us. My studies took a back seat and my entrepreneurial side jumped into the driver seat. Having registered at numerous estate agents, it wasn't long before my dream home turned up. A young bloke had snapped up a terrace house, was doing it up, and was looking for a sizable but quick return on his investment. Viewing was a must, but lots of imagination was required. The place was a complete tip, and I found it hard to believe the agents assurance that in mid-gutting it was in a better state than it had been when it had been inhabited. However, when I viewed the garden and saw what had been taken out of the house, I could almost believe it.

With a suitable schedule of work that was at the time ahead of planning, I went for it and put in an offer for the finished refurb. Frequents visits meant that I was reassured that things were going to plan and online for the date I had been given. With everything arranged all I could do was wait.