A day off.

That would be from my regular routine, as opposed to doing nothing. I’ve been finishing the wallpapering in our bedroom. And you may remember me doing this before and wonder why it’s taking me so long. Three layers. Three bloody layers! First the damp resistant foil with the stupid glue that stinks and dries too fast. Then the horizontal lining paper which collapses on you as you try and paper an entire wall single handed. Then the expensive, and typically finicky to use, finish wallpaper. But I’m down to two final strips and the window area now, and shall probably finish it before I finish this post.

I say probably because I’m on a tea-break and every time I stop, I REALLY want to stop! I feel like I’ve been doing this forever. But if I stop tonight, I’ll have to get out the wallpaper table again tomorrow. And I’m sick of the wallpaper table.

But at least I get time to think. I’ve been thinking about a program I saw last night. A British couple relocated to France and took on the renovation of a HUGE house (four walls really) entirely on their own except for the hand made windows and laying of roof tiles.

It was amazing, these people weren’t spring chickens, they couldn’t speak the language, lived half an hour from anywhere and built their [fabulous] staircase after reading a how-to book! Of course having no life what-so-ever, and not in demand by children, meant they could work one hundred hour weeks with a smile.

Strikes me I’m envious!

We renovated the last house and are almost complete on this one (cloakroom, skirting, (two sets of) curtains and garden to go), but we’ve sworn not to do any more houses until the children are grown as it really isn’t much fun for them.

And anyway, I’m tired of here. It’s no fun renovating when you haven’t got any salvage yards, and building costs are through the roof with the captive market. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not daft enough to think it would be easy somewhere else, but more choice and other options would make the experience more rewarding.

Because I do find it rewarding. I'm now on my third tea break and have just finished wallpapering the bedroom! I’ve FINISHED something! Something that won’t have to be worked on again for a while! Do you realise how rare that is for me? Just about everything I do is never-ending. And even though the bedroom isn't totally finished just yet, now the curtain pole can go up, and I can start making the curtains, so it’s a leap forward. I suppose somewhat minor in the grand scheme of things, but I feel like I’ve leaped!

But I want to live in an old house again. I want the peace and quiet we have here, but I want it to go on for longer than twenty seconds up the road. And talking of roads, I'd like to live somewhere where I could get lost, or keep driving and get somewhere else. I think I want to live somewhere bigger. Which is odd, as the thought has always scared me before.

Until I was nine, we moved a lot. And even when we were moving here, we were only supposed to stay a year, but things in my father’s life changed course and we stayed. I find it strange to think I could have ended up on the other side of the world, if it had been a year later or earlier. But I also remember breathing a sigh of relief. I was so sick of new schools and memorising my mothers colour codes for moving boxes.

So here I ended up. Though I came and went between schooling and backpacking, so spent a few years away. Then the BH and I were planning to leave when we got married. I even travelled out to look at houses. But for several reasons it didn’t happen, and life moved ahead. Mostly with babies and houses. And they take up a lot of time. Which you don’t get a lot of, when feeding babies or painting ceilings.

But things will soon be slowing and I might find some time (after all two years ago, it was pot luck whether the dog got a walk, now it’s almost regular!). But each time I take a peek at where local life is now, I’m not struck with enthusiasm.

I want more sunshine, and I wouldn’t mind winter being winter. I want fields to vanish onto the horizon, and not just a seven minutes walk through the woods, I want a forest! And a mountain would be good, though I’d settle for some valleys. But I couldn’t lose the beach. In fact even the idea of changing the beach I walk on, scares me. I know my beach. I love my beach.

Damn it. I’ve just talked myself out of changing anything again. That’s what my problem is. I love this place. But I so wish it was more, had more. Or in some instantices, less.

And anyway where would we go? The kids are in school. The housing market is slow. The BH has a good job. Our friends are here. We don’t speak any other languages. Everywhere’s strict on immigration. Except Scotland. We could go to Scotland, well anywhere in the UK, but Scotland would be our first choice. But then, it’s so darn cold and doesn't come with summer sunshine.

And I’m suddenly thinking about distance. When I read some of the bl*gs about having to drive for a couple of hours to get to a particualr store, it sends shivers down my spine. I couldn’t do it. I’d be a raving loony in a week flat.

Wow, I think I’ve come full circle.

As I always do.

Ho-hum, did I mention my bedroom looks nice?