bright young things @ maison edric

i have moved into edric, & my poor dear squid whisperer & i are experiencing true student poverty for the first time in our lives. i am only allowed to go into one second-hand bookshop per week, & she is allowed to buy only one new variety of tea. we subsist on minestrone soup & make a lot of jokes about milk, peppers & cocaine.

-it is 31 degrees over here & i am currently holding a tub of salted caramel ice-cream to my head to try & cool the fuck down.

-edric is a beautiful house. he is very tall & thin & rambling- rather dilapidated- wooden floors, light-filled corridors, two squishy old red sofas in the lounge. we’re slowly making him ours: my catcher in the rye poster in the lounge, a bathroom fully weaponised with bath bombs & rubber ducks, books all over the bloody place.

-my room is the crows’ nest, right at the back of the house, a tiny place which is about 90% enormous bed. it’s like a goddamn island. there’s a big window right by it, so i can see the night sky when i lie down. if i hang backwards out of the window at a certain angle i have an excellent view of the stars. i’m going for kind of a tatty black-n-white quasi-retro thing with it; black posters, victorian photographs (alice liddell, oscar wilde), black bedsheets, my books stacked in piles on my desk & chest of drawers. they also fill up the entire bookcase in the lounge, because of course they do.

-jo’s reading ulysses at the moment (she’s on the aeolus chapter, which is the one i find most confusing, but i’m nevertheless very excited for her) & i’m reading the folding star. we are in constant battle against falling-down posters & the very dodgy oven, which operates according to some dark agenda of its own.

-i have been adopted by a goth moth; he is a huge black velvet creature who keeps hanging around my room, probably attracted by all the black. i can hear him crashing repeatedly into the lampshade right now.

(three days later.)

-it’s a grey, rain-silvered day, & i woke up to a view of the garden all dark & lush & secretive. the garden is very green & overgrown, with a tiny tumbledown shed at the end. sort of ramshackle-dreamy, like the rest of the house. beyond the trees i can see the spire of the catholic cathedral.

-it’s so quiet here at nights. in all the places i’ve lived, & there’s been a lot, it’s never been this still before. i’m used to the buzz of main roads, of surrounding flats. but here it’s just the trees & the creak of the boards & the rain.

-also, my room + rain = some cosy y.a novel bullshit.


-we’re trying to get the neighbours to like us. i’m hoping jo, as the pretty soft-voiced one in pearls & floral sundresses, will be our public face. she’s written a nice note to the teachers who live next door, to which i added a scrawled postscript. i’ve been playing quite a lot of music by the open window, so let’s hope they like antique beat.

-then there’s the little skinny black cat we’ve been trying to lure into being friends with us, who we see prowling round the street; the fairy lights in the trees down the road; the house two doors down, number 67, which i’m pretty sure is haunted, it’s uninhabited, with a pale blue front door & the dead stalks of dandelion clocks overgrowing the garden; the pale stars of water-lilies on the campus lake. i went out for a rain-walk this afternoon in raincoat, doc martens & very little else, & came back with water sluicing off me in streams. it’s easy to feel alive when you’re alone on the norfolk broads getting stormed on.

-there’s also stuff like making blueberry pancakes in the early sun with oil of angels playing in the background, & serious conversations over which bowie posters would look best in the lounge vs my bedroom (verdict: heroes in my room, low & ziggy stardust downstairs), & getting drunk on my bed & wildly bitching about people on our shit list, & talking each other into buying stuffed animals (a blue octopus & a green llama, guess who bought which) in tiger, & me trying to eat a coconut yogurt with a fork when we had brunch in chapelfields. & this morning i nearly knocked myself out with my own hairbrush. i have a goose egg on my temple. it is very painful.

-i have decided that i like it here.

-jo & i have made some crackin banana bread & have plans to watch paprika, so… off i hop.



6 thoughts on “bright young things @ maison edric

  1. I loved that write up. You sound so young and quirky!! Well, in my heart, I am too, its just that reading something like this reminds you that you really are not! Enjoy this time! I am not a fan of black stuff, I would be have been the hippie roommate with loads of colour 🙂 Also, I have always always wanted to put my bed right next to the window like all you, but that could never be living in a tropical country – lizards and spiders crawling on the walls you know and they tend to fall! Lovely room. Cheers!

    Liked by 1 person

    • just turned nineteen, actually, & the whole adulthood thing hasn’t really registered yet! & thank you, we’re making the most of our council-tax free years while we can 😉

      i think we are lacking a hippie, although we will soon have a trenchcoated gamer nerd & a guy who dresses like a 1940s bullfighter. & oh, boy, the spiders must be awful (i say, a weakling.)

      thanks for reading! 🙂


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