*** my bubble home ***

I have to move at the end of the month, because my flatmate aka owner of the property has recently married and is creating a nest for himself and his new wife. Lucky them. I loved this flat. My flat is my safe-place, my bubble. Despite the sometimes chaotic nature of our home, it was (or rather, still is) lovely.  Prior to moving in, the property advertisement asked "Are you looking for a house you can call home?" and I thought "Yes!"and indeed Flat 3-1 became my home [temporarily].

There is clutter everywhere, chances are if you are looking for some obscure object you'll find it at our house [items include: a slackline, a wicker chair hung from the ceiling on a chain, a piano (the most impressive of the vast array of musical instruments scattered across the livingroom), an antique scale, a pan pipe... and so forth].  Not only is the place filled with sumptuously pleasant things, but it also boasts with genuine wooden floors (not the plastic laminate stuff that has recently become so popular) and to top it off, I think our street must be one of the only ones in entire Glasgow that houses balconies. [I know I sound like a letting agent right now, but I have become attached.]

I thought I would share this onset of sentimentality about my house prior to moving out.

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