Just a free-rambling fool …

Once more, I'm stepping off into the unknown. The death knell has sounded, my landlord has confirmed the auction for 24 May and a sixty day settlement period thereafter to vacate the premises.

Even if I’m only in Melbourne until the end of my contract on 15 October, that still leaves me two and a half months without a place, looking for some share-household crazy or desperate enough to take me in on the understanding I may have to do a runner after ten weeks. Bugger.

Okay, I’m no John Birmingham, but in the period November 2000 to October 2002 I moved six times and had seven addresses. Let’s recap:

1. The First Flat of Brunch. Lovely little place in Curtin, Canberra I shared with Marissa of the ruminator for, what, two years? Best rental I’ve ever had. But what was great was the people who lived near by: we evolved a weekend brunch and frisbee group of friends and neighbours that set the tone for each weekend with a cook-up, coffee and banter – and exercise later in the day.

2. The temporary move home to my parents place for the Summer of Unemployment before moving to Sydney.

3. Coogee Beach I: The Hideous Flat of Doom. Certain combinations of people are just not meant to share close personal space, but when I first moved to Sydney, despite the corporate cash I was soon to be pulling down, I was flat broke. I needed a cheap place and sharing a modest flat with two cheerful women for $115 a week, two blocks from Coogee beach and a half hour from work seemed ideal.

It wasn’t.

I dined out for months on how awful one of my flatmates was. Her best effort? The night I came home to find her spilling drunk into a taxi with a few of her mates, my CD player broken and all my wine drunk cinched it. I tried to believe she was a nice person by her own standards, with whom I just I had communication issues.

I eventually had to face facts - she was a demon from an alternate universe designed for my personal torment. I slapped down three weeks notice and bolted to the first place available ...

4. Coogee Beach II: The Lads Pad. A friend was posted to Korea and I moved into his room on a temporary sub-lease. My new flatmate was Rob, who I’d met maybe three times. We had nothing in common: I drank, he didn’t (he’s since come back to the fold); I read fiction, he read business texts and Bertrand Russell; he loved the corporate life, it was eroding my sanity; he could cheerfully get up at 6 for a long jog every morning, I liked once-weekly yoga – we had nothing in common.

Except the most immature sense of humour imaginable.

It was silly: there were bad jokes, film clips were watched in boxer shorts, we debated the merits of ironing, we laughed ourselves stupid and wrote our worst witticisms up on a corkboard. (An example - Doug: “If I have any more coffee today, you’re going to come home to find me naked, licking the wallpaper.” We did not, of course, have wallpaper. We were living in our own surrealist sketch comedy.) Along with Marissa, one of the greatest friends and most easy-to-share-with flatmates I’ve ever found.

Unfortunately, Korea guy came back from Korea and wanted his room back.

5. House-sitting in Drummoyne: five weeks, no rent, a place to store my stuff while I looked around. Perfect, other than breaking down the middle of a major intersection on Oxford Street while moving there ... some tow truck drivers are just psychos.

6. This Life: Balmain. Living with three other lawyers is much less exciting than it might sound. We had a staggered start and finish to the day: people got up between 6 and 8.30 am, using the bathroom in pretty strict sequence. We got home between 7.30 and 11.30 pm at equally precise intervals. Then I became a public servant for a bit and started getting home at 6 – it was like living on the Marie Celeste some nights.

Fabulous, fabulous guys to share with – shame we never really saw each other. Still, if I had to go back to Sydney, I’d happily live in Balmain again. Catching the ferry across Sydney harbour to work is an unbeatable experience.

7. Digs in Thornbury/Northcote with the Gentleman Academic. The best thing, other than my peppercorn rent, was not having to look for a place in Melbourne - before I’d even started looking, a mutual friend e-mailed me to say the Gentleman had a room, was I interested? Damn right I was, and any day I haven’t locked myself out of the house has been a good one here.

It’ll be a shame to move again.

I’m not sure my massive century-old wardrobe can handle any more nicks and dints from “careful” removalists.