Grow Little Seedlings, Grow!

Green isn’t typically a colour you would associate with my fingers, and more often than not plants come to my house to enter Heaven’s waiting room; a quiet place of solace before they shuffle off their mortal coil. And don’t get me wrong, it’s not because I love them too much, but more I’m slightly forgetful in their care and they end up dying of thirst or being left directly in the sunlight to wither.

It’s not my fault, I swear.

But recently, I have developed a passion for helping things to live. Maybe I’ve become the antithesis of an Angel of Mercy; choosing to nurture and let them live. Or something.

The boy bought me a herb set for Christmas this year, and it is now August and only the coriander (my least favourite from the trio) has perished, and honestly, it’s not a great loss to the Tinker household. Billy the Basil (yep, named my plant babies) has thrived, and I now have a selection of chillies and some tomato plants that even I was surprised to see poke through the soil like chicks hatching.

Rejoice!

It helps that I now have a little balcony so don’t have to turn my house into something synonymous of the Eden Project, and that I am actually in a lot more to ensure they are fed and watered, but all I can say is God help me for when I have kids.

Aren’t my plant pots cute? They are Joules (obviously, hence the little rabbits).

Are you any good at gardening?

 

MUST BUY ALL THE THINGS!

Living in a shared house in the centre of London, I had forgotten how much fun it was to kit a house out when you moved. I resided in a small room that was pre furnished on the ground floor, and pretty much the only thing I could influence was the colour of the throw on the bed, which on the whole, is a pretty depressing state of affairs to a colour magpie like me.

So since I moved a few months back, I have had a renewed urge to buy cute little mugs and duvet covers that match the pillows and everything that falls in-between. And it’s been so fun. My old favourites like Etsy have been called on on a regular basis as I peruse the pages of vases made of old light bulbs and personalised tea towels with the excitement that is normally reserved for booking a holiday, and I have to physically stop myself from reaching for my card to buy a whole heap of unnecessary items.

It was going so well, until I discovered a new site and everything went wrong.

Not on the High Street is the cutest and most fun site I have found in a long time, and it is pretty much singlehandedly responsible for the fun stuff that now lives with me, in my giant hoard of colourful fabrics and moustached accessories.

My absolute favourites are the wall decals. We have a particularly fussy landlord who won’t let us do anything anywhere, which makes me incredibly sad. White walls and wood floors feel sterile to me – its photos and paintings that give a living space life and make it feel like home, rather than a space you are renting. Having a home where I can kick back and chill is key to me, and putting my stamp on it is part of this process.

So when I discovered this awesome wall sticker or a dandelion and birds, it was the simple solution. Stick it on, peel it off later, no one is any the wiser. And it’s turned our drab, white walls into something quite magical. A home. A place where my best friend and I can continue to build on the memory bank we have been depositing in for the last 25 years.

My favourite purchases are:

 Moustache Mug – £25 each | Dandelion Decal – £60 | Owl Cushion – £17

Where are your favourite stores for home shopping?

Room With A View…. Of The Carpark

I know. I’ve been missing, presumed dead. You’ve assumed that I fell down the stairs and no one noticed didn’t you? You have visions of me being eaten by Alsatians, Bridget Jones style.

Actually, you’re not far wrong. I’ve been hibernating. The winter is officially my least favourite thing ever, and despite escaping to the sunnier climes of San Diego for the majority of January, the weather has foiled me by having a cold snap, in March.

Last year I was wearing flip flops at this time of year (albeit with slightly blue tinged toes) but this year I am pretty much wearing everything I own to try and combat the arctic winds.

Why is it that when it’s cold and the wind blows, everyone makes weird noises? I digress.

So now its mid March I feel like I have to make the effort to get out of bed (I’M WORKING FROM HOME!!), socialise with the masses, shave my legs and embrace the world outside my window. And in the spirit of this, I’m moving house.

Roco and I have finally decided to move into a little love nest of best friendy-ness together (we want to get a pet hedgehog) and although this is a fun idea, it has its limitations.

LETTINGS AGENTS.

Or as I like to call them, wankers.

Having previously worked as the only female lettings agent in an office full of testosterone, I feel I have enough experience in this field to have a good moan. On my first day, the resident leader of the pack showed me to my desk, then pointed out the kettle and informed me that as part of my remit I was on tea duty. He hadn’t realised cutting remarks were kinda my thing. Regular jokes were made about my parking, my tea making, my cooking and my cleaning skills until I actually had to park one of the company cars on behalf of a bloke in the office who couldn’t get the angle right and had scraped the bumper. Y’welcome.

Estate and lettings agents are a different breed of bellend. These people seem to be bred in a factory of idiots, so they are finely tuned in not returning calls and talking “the talk”. Lettings agents tend to be the softer of the species, but as a person who has had the training and been encouraged to bullshit with the rest of them, I can firmly say that they don’t half talk bollocks.

We looked at 4 flats last night. In the defence of the first guy, he was OK. His parking though was terrible. I bit my tongue and resisted the urge to offer to park it for him. Sweetness and light…. little bundle of bitch is staying firmly covered up…

The second guy however, was a total stereotypical lettings agent. There was barely enough space behind his seat to sit, as it was reclined so far and at such an angle that only a baby would have been comfortable behind him. While showing us a new area, he asked which station we would like to be dropped at, and then told us it wasn’t on his way and that wouldn’t work, dropping us in what can only be described as the arse end of nowhere. Practically Scotland.

He then proceeded to do the talk.

“This one is my favourite! I know you’ll love it!” I looked at her and we mouthed, in perfect synchronicity, most expensive.

He then gave me the talk about the cost of referencing “it’s about a ton each girls, so we can’t do a deal” to which I stared him down and responded “it’s a tenner per person”. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed. Win.

By the end of the viewings he got it. He had realised that we weren’t taking his rubbish and had firmly lost interest in us. I think the point where he took us to Byker Grove and we refused to get out the car was the turning point, if i’m honest.

The hunt, it would seem, continues…….