The Moving Times Of Caroline Proudly

18 Heath Road

My childhood bedroom at Rose Cottage had long gone and I camped in the office come laundry come box room for several weeks. My belongings were stored in any nook and cranny that was free. The successful application for a graduate job meant that my Rose Cottage stay was exchanged for my Brother's spare room in London. With limited time to get organised, I found myself rather inappropriately doing my finances during the televisation of Lady Diana's funeral. By the time Elton John sang Candle in the Wind, I was clutching a piece of paper covered in calculations in one hand and hankies in the other. Lady Di was gone, and I couldn't afford to live in London on my agreed salary.

Sometime during the next week, I came across an advert for a room that I could just about afford. Having established that the tube part of the very long commute was at least direct, I arranged to go and see it. Looking around it, I remember trying to convince myself that it would be fine by making positive comments and ignoring how little I was going to get for my money.

Two London–Fitchestershire round trips and no help at either end made moving a horror. The lack of storage space made the second trip seem ridiculous. With only one day before I started life on the corporate ladder, I used all my creativity to make my tiny room habitable. That night I went to bed very early to cope with my limited success and in hope that I would feel better about things in the morning. The excitement of starting my new job had already been eroded by the time I got there. The 20 minute walk to the tube wasn't very pleasant, the first four tube stops took longer than the last fifteen and then there was the final bus ride, which I abandoned after one stop on the basis that I could walk faster than the flow of traffic.

I had little to do with my housemates. Basically, the relationship was civil and revolved around bumping into them in the kitchen. The sitting room was too small for all of us and in fact only really worked for two people at a time. The couple that officially rented the house got home before the other three of us illegal subtenants and so we spent the evenings in our rooms or went out. Actually, only one of us went out, and he was never in. I think he must have lived almost full time somewhere else. Every time I saw him, he was coming in with a suitcase or leaving with one. His visits never lasted more than half an hour before he was off again. The Australian, who lived in what was supposed to be the dining room, was busy studying for her accountancy exams so that left me bored and lonely.

I decided to buy my first TV, which I considered to be a sudden necessity and justified it as an investment. I rushed into an appropriate shop and confessed that I knew nothing about televisions and had no intention of broadening my knowledge. I wanted one that was in colour with a remote control and the cheapest that fitted that criteria would be ideal. My to the point approach and the limited selection of ones that were that basic and cheap meant that it was a fast transaction. 'Not fast enough' the traffic warden advised me, as I waited for her to finish writing my parking ticket.

The thought of the party that the official tenants had arranged sent me out of London for the weekend. Having got stuck on the M40 coming back on the Sunday, it was back to reality. I finally got to Heath Road. Fighting the dread of another week at work, I tried to get organised. The little mirror that had been hanging on the wall when I left was on the table with traces of white lines still visible. After a quick wipe, I re-hung it and thought nothing more of the party. That was until I was ready to collapse into bed and I pulled back my duvet, only to discover the remains of a ripped open condom packet lying on my sheet. The idea of sleeping was replaced by stripping off my bed and was followed by a manic cleaning spree.

When I had taken the room at number 18, my first impression of John, who was the official tenant, was that he looked like a rough thug. From the overheard snippets of his conversations with his girlfriend, where he would explain his rather frequent war wounds, it was clear he didn't walk away from trouble. For that reason, and in the interest of not rocking the boat, I didn't voice my annoyance that during their party my room had obviously been the place of seedy goings on.

The day that John's two young children from his previous girlfriend came to the house I assumed that they were visiting. After a few days, when suitcases and toys arrived, it became clear that they were staying long term. Getting home from work night after night to find the house in pandemonium, with screaming kids running around out of control, didn't please me. The washing machine was suddenly working 24/7 and strategies like putting my laundry basket next to its door did nothing to reserve a turn.

If you were lucky enough to get into the bathroom in the morning, you had about four minutes before someone banged on the door. The adult voices were irate with the idea that they were going to be late for work and the kids were always about to 'piss their pants'. To avoid the morning rush, I decided to start getting up earlier. Morning one of my new routine was heaven. I had my first normal undisturbed shower in weeks. As I slowly got ready for work, I heard the rest of the house wake and the usual bathroom chaos start. My delight that I was not a part of it was suddenly ruined by John hammering on my door like a mad man and accusing me of being 'a selfish scheming bitch' who had used all the hot water. My suggestion through the door, that maybe he should cover the cost of having the water heater on for longer, especially as he had brought two extra people in the house, that he should be the one getting up earlier to ease the bathroom crisis, was not well received.

I don't think that John liked me from the start, but after my hot water and bathroom suggestions, he hated me with a passion. Whenever our paths crossed, I was subjected to an instantaneous barrage of verbal abuse. Whilst I automatically took to looking at him like he was a mad man whom I pitied, the encounters were rather disturbing. I also knew that there was no way that five adults and two kids in a three-bedroom house with one bathroom was ever going to work. As a result of both, I had no choice but to find somewhere else and accept the unpleasant reality that I would undoubtedly have to pay a higher rent.