One of the many things I learned since coming back to the UK was how to live in a small space. In Belgium I had places that were ridiculously large - in one flat, an entire room for dining and an entire room for sitting and an entire room for bed. So many rooms. Now, I'm pretty much in one room. I have a toilet/shower room to the side. It's what might once have been disparagingly called a bedsit. I think of it as a cosy studio. It's going to be jewel-like and tiny and beautiful once sorted. But cosy means I currently trip over things a lot. It won't be COVID-19 that gets me, it will be the fucking un-unpacked boxes.
I've also learned something approaching patience. I returned to the UK only with possibilities or lack thereof. More lack thereof than anything. There was a lot of crying in the shower. I gritted my old amalgam-filled teeth and carried on, not really with any sense that it would work out, but it did.
What does this all mean? Maybe that you
can teach an old dog new tricks. An old bitch, strictly. And I can now walk on my hind legs and do presentations to 30+ colleagues via the internet.
Another space-saving trick there. Woof.
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