The upstairs flat has the identical layout to this one, without the massive built-ins in the two bedrooms - which, not having many clothes, I use as bookshelves. Upstairs the walls are pale pink, not off white; the carpet is soft beige not coarse purple-grey; and there are none of the kitsch mock-Tudor appurtenances of this flat. Venetian blinds instead of semi-transparent nylon curtains. No hooks on the walls from which to hang paintings. I won't miss the orange hexagonal tiles in the kitchen here, nor the faux-marble bench-top; I do regret (but only slightly) the acres of dark wood. I'll pay ten dollars a week more and exchange my garage for a mere parking space; but the flat is warmer, sunnier and has a better view.
What I will miss is my other door, the one I do use, that opens into the front garden of the building. The hibiscus, the azalea, the jade trees, the ladder ferns, the bird of paradise and the poinsettia I'll still see, but from above. On the other hand, I'll be looking straight out into the head of the palm and also living closer to the birds (there was a black-faced cuckoo shrike here this morning); I might even set up a feeding table for them on the small balcony that shades my front stoop. Best of all, the upstairs flat has a bath! Long soaks for my ricketty knees ...
The way this has panned out has a symmetry and an ease that all the best moves have, whether in the rental market or on the dance floor. I feel very lucky and extremely grateful to the unseen powers that be, whosoever or whatsoever they may be. I feel like I should make some offering ... instead, I'm just posting this ...
