My small crazy life in Oxford has got so simple, it's started to repeat itself.
About 4 months ago my housemate was invited to a housewarming. It was at a house she used to live at, she couldn't go in. It was the house where she'd lived quite happily in with her ex, she couldn't face it, paint job or not and I totally understood why...
In 2006 I moved in to a house that my friends had previously lived in. In fact one of them refused to come to a house party there due to not wanting to see it in a better or different state to that of which he lived - fair enough I thought. But alas, tomorrow about 5pm I'll be calling at 34 Aston St.
34 Aston St is a house that I moved 3-4 people into, in about 2004? I fell in love in that house. I laughed, cried, broke up, made up and experienced life in that house, sometimes with 5 other people, sometimes with just one, who don't live there anymore, have nothing to do with it now but I did those things there. The mortar probably remembers the fights, the fun, the conversations but the people there don't...isn't life weird?. In fact I believe that the awful curtains I made, still remain (they were only awful as I hoped to stuff the buffer with cardboard to make it stand up, opps never mind?).
I remember listening to Van Morrison (and I mean "Listening") for the first time in that house. I also remember knocking my, ever so cocky, ex out of a game of Poker in that basement (some other people remember this too, it was so funny to us.), I wonder if when wandering around the house I'll feel anything, shivers of the past, etc? Probably not but it's still a crazy idea that someone I know, lives in this house that has represented so much in my past?! Mental Crazy.