A Room Of One’s Own

Goodbye, Flat 20, 11 High Street.

Where I sat wide awake in the middle of the night, staring out of the window, searching for my Dad’s soul in the smoke of the city skyline.

Where I slept in the empty bathtub during the heatwaves.

Where I smoked a million cigarettes.

Where I read so many marvellous books and mixed fancy cocktails and danced to KISS (the band, not the radio station) and filled notebooks with words and cooked special dinners for friends.

Where I watched Grenfell burn.

Where I hosted epic, week-long drink and drug binges.

Where I fought battles, physically and emotionally.

Where the kids visited me and we baked cakes and made milkshakes and watched movies.

Where I stayed in bed for days, recovering from the latest breakdown. (A bed! After not having one for so long! Ah, a bed.)

Where the cold weather hurt my bones.

Where the church bells rang on Sundays and the bellringers practised every Monday (19:45 til 21:30), terribly, and out of time.

Where I only had sex three times in as many years.

Where I was frightened and safe at the same time.

With the burns in your carpets and the blood on your walls

and the hair dye on your floor and the spider on your ceiling.

Don’t worry, I fixed you up proper.

You look better now.

Thanks for the memories.

I shan’t miss you, but I shall miss all those nights I spent alone there,

up all those fucking stairs that riled up my fibro,

up on the top floor, under the creaky metal roof, behind the scratched white door,

in a place that I paid for and looked after and was proud of,

a place that was mine for a while, for the worst while,

in which I laughed and grieved,

and danced and screamed,

and wrote and read,

and drank and ate,

and slept and dreamt,

and cried and cried and cried and nearly died (twice):

a place in which one finally had a room of one’s own.


I know I’m late to the party (moving out has taken a huge toll on my mental and physical health) but this post is in response to the 3rd prompt of Christine’s fantastic Feminist Book Title Challenge.

There’s still over a week left to go so head over to Brave & Reckless to get inspired, get involved and read other contributions!

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14 thoughts on “A Room Of One’s Own

  1. Air Guitar for Kiss surely 😉 A very thought provoking piece – Our homes bear all the scars of our lives don’t they!

    • Yep, air guitar and head banging :D

      They do indeed, but change is good – onward to newer (and hopefully greener) pastures! Thank you for reading x

      • Not quite there yet but by Sunday we should be. I spend time here (wrapping up a mattress right now) and love how calm it makes me feel being here. Are you somewhere else already and is it good? X

      • That’s wonderful :) I’ve temporarily moved in with my partner, bless him for putting me up/putting up with me until I find somewhere decent to live but London is so bloody expensive! X

      • I know! My cousin has a flat in London (not that far from Grenfell actually) but she’s well off and only occasionally moans about the extra expense. Her place is amazing and she lets me stay anytime I want. Haven’t been down this year though, just can’t afford it, but I’m getting withdrawals haha. Our new place is great and Aberdeen is much cheaper than your city and our capital (where my eldest lives). Her and her gf pay about 100 quid more than us a month for 1 bedroom. We have 2 double bedrooms.

        Sorry for the ridiculously long comment. Ffs! I should’ve just written you an email or sent you a Welcome to your New Home card! 😏

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