In which I don't discuss any world events whatsoever, or indeed any events taking place outside of my flat.

Sorry I've been so slack on the blogging front. The world goes on spinning, Charlie Sheen goes on winning, my thighs are thinning. Helpfully, the stress of moving home combined with a new job have conspired to make me get back to my pre-London weight. Unhelpfully, that manifests itself in the following ways:

1. Instead of shrinking, my butt just gets flatter. You ever see those plump girls with butts that stick straight out at the back like two basketballs? Yeah, I'm like a deflated version of that at the moment.
2. My boobs have retreated back into non-existence.
3. Shorts/jeans bought at the peak of my weight now fall off me. Literally.

However, I feel sleek and light and I can wear jeans on my bike without cutting off circulation to my thighs. Hopefully, once things settle down a bit my butt will come back. All is forgiven, butt! I'm sorry I ever cursed you and wished you gone from my life.

Despite the wobbliness of my job situation (and the lack of wobbliness in the rear department), I love my new flat. It's the one bit of stability in my life right now, and I'm clinging to it like a drowning polar bear to a chunk of iceberg. I love that I can watch the sunset behind the city from the POÄNG in my living room. I love re-organising my shamefully large DVD collection. I love puzzling over random pieces of furniture left out on the footpaths of Richmond, taking home what I can make use of (if I had have known about this new phenomenon of Melbournite's chucking out good furniture on a daily basis, I could have furnished my flat entirely from hard rubbish). I love the high pressure, hot-as-hell shower. I love that I can text my bro at random and meet up for coffee 5 minutes later. Good coffee, too.

Now, I just need to sort out my work situation. It looks like I will be going back to freelancing at the end of the month, and this time I need to sort out whether this is a viable long-term option for me, financially as well as emotionally. I'm a little worried about the possible isolation of living alone as well as working from home, but I'm sure there are lots of things/groups/events that I can sign up for to get me out of my lovely flat. I'm slowly rediscovering the fun stuff going on in Melbourne, which generally requires a little more research and forward planning than the stuff going on in London. Melbourne is revealing herself slowly to me, like a wary lover burnt by one too many heart-breaks.

I know the feeling, Melbourne. We are soul-mates, you and I.

Ikea and me

I moved in to my new flat on Saturday. A little one bedder in Richmond, grimy (not to mention cat-smelly) from the previous tenant. But finally, living on my own "like a grown up" in the words of a dear friend. I spent a day or two scrubbing it from top to bottom, calling out the plumber when it transpired that the toilet leaked when flushed, and the locksmith when I couldn't get back in. I spent my first night sleeping on the thermarest in the bare bedroom, marvelling at how quiet it was for an inner city pad and imagining burgulars making off with all my worldly goods my mac while I slept.

Since then I have spent several days racing through the local Ikea store, mostly backwards (which is by far the easiest way to do Ikea, trust me), back and forth and in and out as I kept thinking of more things that the flat could do with. Once by car, with my mum, once by foot, once by bike and once by tram. All modes of transport explored.

I know people love to hate Ikea, and moan about what a hellish way to spend a precious Saturday it is, what with the shlepping around endless mazes of showrooms, trying to locate the right brown box in an enormous warehouse full of brown boxes, topped off with the nightmare of having to assemble it yourself when you finally get home, allen keys and anonymous bits of plank strewn around the place as you tear your hair out etc. etc.

Well, I have a confession to make.

I actually like putting together Ikea stuff. In fact, I would go so far as to say that I love it. I love the challenge. I love that it's a few-hours-long-project that has a useful and beautiful outcome. I love puzzling over the universal instructions and the moment of "aha!" when you realise the bit you were trying to attach to the bob was upside down. I love they way everything lines up perfectly - so Swedish! - and that there is the exact amount of screws/doohickeys needed for the job, so that you can watch the packet empty as you near completion. It's very rewarding; mentally consuming as well as physically demanding - the perfect antidote to worrying too much about whether living on my own is really a good idea.

I have had lots of Ikea furniture over the years, but I've outdone myself this time: I'm now the proud owner (and assembler) of a MICKE desk with LAVER chair, ENGAN bed, half-price EKTORP couch, KILBY bookcase, and the one I've had my eye on forever, the coma-inducing POÄNG armchair. Just so it's not totally generic, there are a few of my own pieces around - namely a pretty cane chair that belonged to my Nan and a couple of funky retro stools from a good mate who also supplied me with a fridge and various kitchen implements.

I'm thinking about going back tomorrow to get some sheer curtains for the living room (which looks straight into my neighbours tightly venetianed windows), and to check out a bedside table I spotted in the bargain corner today. And I could use a better reading lamp in the bedroom.

I guess the only problem I have with Ikea is knowing when to say "when".

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I am all too aware that this post goes against all the anti-consumerist stuff I've been writing about recently. My priority at the moment is to make myself a comfortable home, as cheaply as possible, without a car, and Ikea provided the perfect solution to that. Also, I'm hoping that these will be some long-lasting pieces of furniture - especially the armchair, which I hope to be rocking in my old age (literally).