No Ivory Tower

One of my recent posts here was entitled "Welcome to the Real World".  This week I'm looking at things from the other end of the telescope, as it were.  In my reflections the other morning, I thought of my new-look life here in south Yorkshire in terms of an escape from the 'ivory tower' of my cosy flat in Letchworth Garden City.

In many ways my move has put me more 'in touch' with life.  The transition has not been free of problems.  For example, as expected, I was without the internet for a fortnight; the roof leaked and at one point in a heavy rainstorm the other week I saw a 'river' running down the wall; some of the rooms - perhaps all of them - had a strange smell: I suspect my predecessor may have been a smoker; and the frame of the bedroom window is twisted, so that it no longer closes.

With most of these problems now overcome, or at least with the necessary remedial work in hand, I now find I can see some of the benefits of my move.  I can hang my washing on a proper line to dry in the fresh air.  I'm reliant on there being no rain, and trusting that the wind will not be so strong as to overcome the strength of the pegs, but it's better than hanging washing in the window to dry overnight.

I now have a 'street view'.  I can see real people walking along the road past my window, as opposed to noticing a passing figure and wondering what he or she is doing on private property.  Living at a road junction, I can see some way up the road, compared to catching a glimpse of a pedestrian before they disappeared behind the ever-growing bush outside my flat window.  Here there are neighbours (as I mentioned last week) that I can see, instead of merely hearing them banging about in the next room or on the floor above.

I also have custody of my own rubbish, and know that there's no risk of my litter being scattered around the street, as happened on occasion when the bins got full.  Not that long ago, I had great difficulty - for the second time, in recent years - in being able to get my recycling into any of the green bins at the flats because, as a result of people putting incorrect materials (usually the bag they had collected their recycling in) into the bins, they hadn't been emptied by the local authority.  I have four bins in my courtyard, and have just about memorised what the different colours are for.  I have learned which are to be put out for emptying in which weeks, and must remember that 'Wednesday night is bin night'.

And I had the 'privilege' of a sore thumb the other afternoon after a session in my garden.  The cause of this was essentially my trusting to the protection of inferior quality gloves as I removed some of the jungle I've inherited.  At least I can be thankful for the presence of 'my own nettles'!

And finally, let me comment on one facility of my previous life that has been almost identically replaced: the postal service.  In less than the time it takes for my computer screen to go into 'idle' mode, I can walk out of my door, round two or three corners, post a letter - knowing that it will be collected by 9.0 the next morning - and return home, just as I have done for many years.  The only difference is that here the post box is built into the wall of a house, while there it was a pillar box on the corner of the street.

I confess to a degree of excitement as I wonder what other blessings lie in wait for me just around the corner.