Sons of Loki

Having assembled my life into a bunch of cardboard boxes, binbags, and guitar cases, my dad and I hit the road at about 9:30am and after an uneventful trip through the heart of England, we got to Leeds. Which is where we spent half an hour getting lost in Meanwood before finding Pickerings, my letting agent. Signed the contract, picked up the keys, and then another thirty minutes getting lost in Headingley before finding my house and my sister and Chris waiting outside.

My house is a lot further out than I thought – roughly halfway between Headingley and Meanwood, and a bit of a hike from the shops in Headingley. (Google Maps made it look practically next door to my old halls at James Bailie Park – which is sort of is, only not by car.) But it’s brilliant. I love it. Big, airy living room, a big spare room just dying to have a nice coffee table and big TV in it, nice old fashioned houses out the window, and a wonderfully creepy cellar that looks like some secret police’s secret interrogation room. (I love hidden rooms – you know, big spaces that no one goes in. Maybe it’s the mystery of it.)

Front room...

...and living room, for want of a better descriptor.

Can you spot what's special about this kitchen? (Hint: nothing is, it's just a kitchen)

THIS IS CREEPY

IT IS PAST MIDNIGHT WHY AM I TAKING PHOTOS DOWN HERE AAARGHH

OH GOD WHAT WAS THAT SOUND UPSTAIRS

and who's this groovy cat?

Anyway, we had a meal at a nice little restaurant nearby and a few drinks before retiring to my house – my house! – for bed. In the morning, my dad headed back for Norwich and I had morning coffee at my dining table in my house while listening to the Archers and then mopped the floors (they’re still ingrained with dirt, but apparently we’re just gonna cover it up with rugs, so that’s okay).

Down to IKEA, then. It’s the first time I’ve ever been to the Swedish furniture megastore, but it was quite a remarkable experience – I feel that most of modern culture can be explained by the cheap, mass-produced mass-market designs there. It’s brilliant. It’s cheap, but stylish. It’s stylish from being cheap. It’s making a virtue of a vice.

Bought a laundry basket (I do not want clothes strewn across my floor), a hanging clothes hanger thing, a few tealight holders (essential) and a nice full-length mirror for £15. Thus bought, we had hot dogs (when you exit the store, they sell hot dogs! What a country) and headed back to my house.

And then I waved goodbye to them from the front door of my house. Which was a first. I mean, usually people are waving goodbye to me, or I’m waving goodbye from the door of my room, but here I was, homeowner (sort of), standing on the front step of my house and waving as Chris and Kate drove off.

And so I turned and headed inside.

I made some coffee and set about unpacking my my PC, dragging the desk over to the window (it was tucked up at the end of the room) and plugging my speakers in. Then books, clothes, decorations, until I was pretty much sorted.

I began assembling an array of toilet literature, starting with a wet copy of the Big Issue and Mumon’s The Gateless Gate, a collection of koans which are perfect for meditating on whilst sitting upon the bog.

A monk asked Nansen: `Is there a teaching no master ever preached before?’
Nansen said: `Yes, there is.’

`What is it?’ asked the monk.

Nansen replied: `It is not mind, it is not Buddha, it is not things.’

Feeling peckish, I went to cook up some pasta, only to find that the hob is gas and the lighter was dead. Not to worry! I went down to Sainsbury’s. Sainsbury’s was closed! I went to KFC instead and bought a burger, then found a newsagents and got a lighter for good measure. (How I miss the humble combini.)

I underestimated how scary being alone in a big four-bedroom house might be. I was terrified when I heard whistling from inside the house! only to realise it was just on BBC iPlayer from my room upstairs. I have a big stick to hit intruders, though for now I securely lock my door at night.

Today, Monday, I set about getting all the rest of the stuff I needed: an overdraft from Halifax (denied!), a haircut from the usual place on the Otley Road, next to Oxfam (stylised!), a secondhand novel from Oxfam (I just walked in thinking “I wish they had the New York Trilogy, but they won’t” but to my surprise, there it was on the shelf, as if it had been waiting for me all summer) and got a bus into town proper. (Bus’ only £1.70 now. Actually, that might be the same as last year.) At Argos, I bought some bathroom scales and their cheapest exercise bike before riding the bus back uptown with 13kg of exercise bike under my armpit. Dragging that thing back home, I set about assembling it and fixing myself some lunch when a man arrived to check the kitchen electrics. I busied myself clearing up junk from around the living room. (In hindsight, I probably should have offered him tea, but I’m new to this house lark.)

So out I ventured again to Wilkos, where I got some razors and conditioner and a cork noticeboard (false advertising on the label, as there were no pins inside and now I can’t pin anything up) and some blutac (so I can finally stick stuff to the walls) and coathangers (so all my stuff ain’t lying over the floor), before finally stocking up on edibles at Sainsbury’s (man, that place is expensive). Decorated my room. Felt less guilty about watching two episodes of the Wire back-to-back by cycling all the way through them.

And so here I am. Installed in my house. Ready for term. I am still woefully unprepared.