Nightmares, icing cakes and commuting

It’s been a while since I last posted, partly because I have been surprisingly busy and partly because I have so much I could write about I can’t decide where to begin.

Parenthood dominates my world and influences everything I do as I am spending so much more time with my son than in London. He is going through a nightmare phase at the moment so keeps appearing in our room in the middle of the night, banging the door open, turning on the lights and recalling some terrible scenario such as a monster dragging him down the stairs or a tiger in his room.

This weekend just gone was his birthday, so I spent all week prepping for it; baking a cake, icing a cake, shopping, wrapping, cleaning, tidying, tidying again because my boy got everything out again…. but the party was great fun.

Last week I also had to commute up to London to do some work. (My wonderful parents looked after my son after nursery for me.) Folkestone is less than an hour from London by train and its such a pleasant journey compared to the tube or driving in London. I don’t miss that. But it was also really nice to be back in London. I love the hustle bustle, the mass of people, the glorious mix of people, the way that turning a corner brings a new view of life. But there are things I don’t miss. The sound of sirens was the norm in my old home as I lived by the A12. Now when I very occasionally get woken up by sirens at night I think I am still in London until I become conscious enough to hear a seagull or, once the sirens have gone by, hear nothing at all. It is so quiet here in Folkestone and at night it is really dark, whereas in London there’s always a glow in the sky. Coming ‘home’ to Folkestone also felt good and I enjoyed watching the view from the train windows change from grey to green. I wish you could see the sea from the train, that would be the icing on the cake.

Time on my hands

Since moving and without a full-time job, my life has been dominated by four things; childcare, art, kitchen planning and job hunting.

The childcare has definitely settled down now, with my son enjoying nursery (apart from the temporary sulk as I leave him there), my parents being wonderful and helping out when I need extra support, the fabulous babysitter we have found and finding lots of wonderful things to do with him in Folkestone and nearby on our days off together.

Art, as previously mentioned is a current highlight in Folkestone as its the Triennial and Fringe at the moment. My son has decreed ‘No More Art!’ as we have seen so much, but unfortunately for him there is more to see. He is quite partial to Gabriel Lester’s The Electrified Line (Cross-track Observation-deck). We visit it each time we are in the Harbour area and every time the same conversation: ‘What will happen when a train comes?’ it begins, and each time I explain that trains no longer run on the line but he is never convinced and worries the structure is in the way and some terrible disaster will occur.(photo borrowed from Folkestone Triennial website)

Then there has been the kitchen planning. This began before we moved and is still a daily topic in our house, as we await quotes, make decisions and try not to think about the huge amounts of money we plan to spend. The kitchen is definitely the heart of our home and we miss our old one. Currently the kitchen here is a little space, disconnected to the rest of the house and nothing works properly. We plan to knock down a wall, re-lay floors, add a few doors, radiators and a laundry and generally start again from scratch to create the kitchen/diner of our dreams. We are of course, getting a number of quotes and have had various kitchen companies design their idea of our dream kitchen. I visit these kitchen showrooms with such regularity people are going to think I work there. I have my kitchen brochures and designs on the coffee table for ease of perusal and dream at night about worktops. By the end of next week I really hope I can make a decision so we can get on with the hell that will be ‘the refurb’.

On top of all this I have been job hunting. This is a slow process as I am trying to get work I really want, especially having finished teaching, which I really didn’t want to do any more. Online searches, CV’s, applications, meetings and even an interview under my belt, but still no new work. It seems I need to play the long game and I am not worried – yet!

Folkestone’s on the edge of something (by Dan Thompson)

Reading Dan Thompson’s post today, having mentioned the Triennial in last nights blog, I thought it was well worth a reblog. Love the photo of Thurle Wrights work in Seaafar (the apparently unsigned unlabelled exhibition in the old ferry waiting room). Sadly it was only on last weekend, but more of Thurle Wright’s work is in Marrin’s bookshop, in a totally different and unique setting.
I was also interested in the comments comparing Folkestone to Margate. Prior to making the move we visited Margate and had the opposite reaction finding Folkestone less harsh but with enough edge for us not to miss East London too much. Dan, hope you come again!

England’s seaside towns are unlike anywhere else in the world. They were the places that the country’s industrial workforce went for rest and relaxation, certainly, but the mass market that appeared there meant that they were also the places that industry carried out its research and development. Seaside towns are scattered with rusted remains of prototyped cutting-edge technology, from concrete seawalls and cliff paths secured by man-made stone to mechanical marine lifts and electric railways. So Folkestone, overlooked on the South Coast because Dover, Hastings and Brighton have more pizazz, is an interesting place for an international arts festival, especially as it became a prime stopping-off point, as people abandoned the south coast’s seaside and headed for the continent.

There are two strands to Folkestone’s festival – the ‘official’ bit is the Folkestone Triennial, titled ‘Lookout’. Running alongside it is the Folkestone Fringe, on the theme of ‘Future Now’…

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Getting to know Folkestone

It’s been a busy few weeks since my last post. I have been busy job hunting (interview this week…), getting people in to quote for work in the house, looking after my son, visiting friends in London and Cambridge and starting to get a feel for Folkestone.

We could not have arrived at a better time for someone who loves the contemporary arts. The town has been steadily building up for the Folkestone Triennial and Folkestone Fringe, which finally began with a dig in the sand last Thursday (Michael Sailstorfer’s Folkestone Digs). I will definitely blog about the triennial soon – it will need a post all to itself!

For a place that gets a lot of stick (googling it prior to the triennial got more moans than compliments) Folkestone is doing just fine if you ask me. Over the last few weeks my son and I have far from run out of child friendly activities and our family weekends have been filled with sightseeing and art-seeing as well as visits to see friends and family elsewhere.

Having my son to entertain, I am now quite familiar with  Radnor Park (great to live next door to a lovely park), The Coastal Park, The Old High Street, Sunny Sands, the ‘Peddle Beach’ (that’s what my son calls the pebble beach just below Mermaids cafe), Lathe Barn out beyond Hythe (an easy dayout where I get to sit down watching my son play) and we have made trips to the lovely Brockhill Country Park and Kearsney Abbey and a slightly dull visit to Sandwich (pretty, but shut on a Sunday afternoon). We also popped into Hythe to see St Leonards crypt – bit creepy!

Being out and about in Folkestone and beyond still feels like being on holiday. I wonder if we will tire of the beach and the parks and crave the concrete and culture of London, or if we will feel privileged to have best of both worlds as London is in easy reach.  I must say I am feeling a sense of pride that I can now call Folkestone home!

SAHM I am not!

For the first few weeks it was crazy, trying to get boxes opened, curtains up, quotes for stuff that needs doing soon, plus looking after my lovely three-year-old son.

I have worked since he was eight months old so he was in a nursery in London full time including most of the holidays. I had time to myself and a job where I got to talk to other adults, and we treated ourselves to a cleaner so the house was clean for at least one day each week.

Having taken voluntary redundancy from my teaching job I knew I was facing a tough challenge getting used to spending a lot more time with a little boy full of energy and capable of winding me up within three seconds of him waking up. Motherhood is great but lets be honest, it is not at all how anyone imagines it is going to be.

What with my nasty cold and all the unpacking I found I was wishing my son was in nursery full time within a day of moving. Fortunately I had my parents around to help out and I can tell you now, my mum is just fab!

We decided to use some of my redundancy money to give my son a few mornings in nursery over the summer to help him settle in and to keep me sane. My son hated the idea. The first day he cried all the way there and the second day he cried for a full hour before I took him but by the time I picked him up all was well, until the next morning.

He has now stopped crying but does an incredible sulk each time I drop him off. But it has given me a little time to get things done, though the house seriously needs a clean!

For the rest of the week I have the pleasure of his company. It has been a learning curve. Fortunately Folkestone in good weather is perfect for entertaining a three-year-old. We have been to various beaches, eaten far too many ice creams, played in the fantastic Coastal Park, wandered around shops, visited Lathe Barn near Hythe and taken advantage of my parents on a very regular basis to help keep little man entertained. We also fortunately have a friend with a son the same age so it has been really nice to spend time with another mum on play dates and grab snippets of adult conversation mid discussions about desires for ice cream, toilet needs and explaining why sharing is important.

Now we are a little more settled I am starting on the job hunt, and must admit I am quite looking forward to getting back to some work, a Stay At Home Mum I am not!

Harbour Fountains, Folkestone

The stresses and strains

The move was exhausting and I came down with a nasty cold to top it off. The dust from opening all those packing boxes, that rundown and tired feeling and the fact it was the end of teaching (always used to get a cold at the start of the hols) meant it came as no surprise but it made post-move life even harder as all I really wanted to do was go to bed.

The first few days after the move were surreal, but at least I had my husband at home for a few days so we managed to get quite a bit of unpacking done and have a functioning living room and kitchen at least. However once he went back to work, the test really began.

As well as the cold, my aches and pains flared up and I suddenly had a three-year old to entertain almost full-time. Thankfully my parents were really brilliant and helped keep my son entertained and me sane, but I really didn’t expect to feel quite so stressed and shattered as I did. This move has been the toughest ever, due to having a child to care for.

My son is cute and funny but is also highly skilled in pushing my buttons in a way that non of my PRU kids never could. To be fair to him, this has been such an upheaval for him and he has been very unsettled but I do wish he was a little less clingy and would stop talking about bottoms all the time (loudly, so our new neighbours can here..)

I dragged my rundown body with a three year old attached to my leg, through the first few weeks after the move. Then came the time to introduce my son to his new nursery which was pretty traumatic initially. On his second visit I warned him an hour or so before that we would be going and he cried solidly for the hour, right up until five minutes after I left nursery when apparently he was absolutely fine. I think it’s worse because he is only going two mornings each week. Had he been going everyday I think he would be totally settled by now. But that’s not compatible with my freelance (no money yet) life right now.

But the cold has gone and my son played on his own today without needing me sitting next to him, so hopefully we are turning a corner.

Moving home

So the deed is done, we have moved!

We had professional packers to box everything up. They turned up on time and quickly filled boxes with our ‘stuff’ then loaded a huge, bright orange removals van with most of our ‘stuff’ leaving us with our bed, sofa and emergency box of bits. They also left all the plants and the garden ‘stuff’ to be collected the next day. we did as much cleaning as we could before going out.

We went out for our last evening in London to one of our favorite restaurants, Namo, in Victoria Park. We don’t think Vietnamese is an option down in Folkestone. Namo was a place we used to go when we lived in Bow and had occasionally visited once we moved out to Leytonstone. Whilst there I did an online food order – what a romantic way to spend an evening, discussing milk and washing up liquid. But at least we would have a full fridge on our first night in our new home.

The moving day began with a quick breakfast then a frantic clean and packing of the fridge/freezer. The removals team arrived, as did the rain. Drenched men carried plants are garden tools across the white kitchen tiles and the house was emptied of all but dirt.

We gave them their last cup of tea before they set off, then my husband made a trip to the local skip to get rid of the remaining rubbish while I cleaned the muddy kitchen and dragged out remaining belongings under the cover of the carport whilst waiting for the car to return.

I received the call from the solicitor to say the house was no longer ours whilst standing nervously wondering where my husband could have got to.

Finally he returned and we got the car loaded and set off to the estate agents to drop off the keys. Only to get part way before realising I had failed to do the meter readings. I kneeled in the pouring rain and peered down into the cobwebbed hole at the water meter and think I have an idea what it said!

Once en route we met every traffic light and jam going so phoned my dad who collected the keys for the new house for us once we got the call.

We arrived at the new house well after the removals van but dad had come to the rescue and let them in to start the unpack. The house was soon full of boxes and mudded carpets, my son arrived with Gran, the locksmith came and went and finally the removals team left as we wondered where to begin, so we began by ordering a takeaway. Sitting down to eat it I remembered the food order and lo and behold they turned up too so there we were, food stocked, dinner sorted and a new house in Folkestone!

Why are we doing this?

Yesterday the council failed to collect the sofa, as arranged, on Monday the nursery is closed and only told me on Friday at 5.30 so now I have one less day to sort the house and a large sofa to get rid of. Each time a hurdle in our move occurs I think to myself, why are we doing this?

Selling and buying houses is stressful. Fact. When the idea began we hadn’t quite realised how much hassle it would involve. Or expense. But we went ahead anyway, even with the obstacles, because we know why we are doing this really.

It’s not a simple reason, it is a combination of many factors.

Firstly there is the family. My parents moved to Folkestone a few years ago and we love visiting them and know that we will all enjoy living closer to each other. We are selfishly looking forward to the babysitting too! We will still be able to visit London family too. As I will not be teaching anymore I will have more time to spend with my son with gorgeous parks, beaches and hills within 15 minutes walk of my front door.

Then there’s Folkestone itself. The air feels fresher than London air, there is more opportunity for outdoor play for my son and it’s pretty. Oh and 35 minutes to France! Folkestone has a thriving arts scene which suits me, and is still in easy access to London so we won’t lose the cultural opportunities of London either. Folkestone is just great! Yes, it’s a bit shabby in places, but we are moving from East London so hardly going to be shocked by anything Folkestone can challenge us with.

Then there’s the financial incentive. We are swapping a three-bed London 1970’s ex-council townhouse for a three-bed detached cottage. The cottage is 112K cheaper than our London house. Not bad.

Lastly there is my health. I struggle with aches and pains unfortunately and the rheumatologist says that exercise is vital to keep me moving. But a day out in London is an exhausting challenge some days so I hope having everything on my doorstep will help keep me fit without me over doing it. Time will tell.

So we are doing this because it makes sense for us and because we can live in beautiful Folkestone with London at the other end of the high speed rail link anytime we want to visit.

My son with his Gran in Folkestone.

The BIG move

Since leaving my job time has flown by. We move to Folkestone next week, so I am busy attempting to be prepared for the biggest move of my life so far.

The last time I moved was with my boyfriend (now husband) and we moved about three miles across East London. Before that I moved around the corner, quite literally carrying stuff from one house to the other. Before that I was nomadic for a while (or should that be homeless?) living out of the boot of my car and sleeping on friends floors. They were the London moves.

I have, in fact, got a pretty impressive track record of moving. As a child my parents moved around quite a bit and by the time I went to university I had lived in seven houses in six different locations. Since uni I have lived in Shropshire and London in a further nine different houses, not including time spent in San Diego and Nepal.

But this move is different. I wasn’t a mother, or a wife, for any of my other moves. I also wasn’t moving without a job. This time the move is BIG because of my three year old son, my husband, the enormous amount of stuff we now seen to own, the financial challenges we will face, and the fact I am leaving London, a place I have loved living and has been home for longer than anywhere else.

My last biggish move was when I left Shropshire for London about eleven years ago. I arrived in London and LOVED it. Nowhere can compete with London. I suddenly had amazing art, architecture, food and nightlife on my doorstep. I felt a real sense of awe wandering down roads where so much history has been made, so many people have trodden those same paths. I didn’t imagine I would ever want to leave. I will no doubt explain in future blogs the reasons that lead to our decision to go, but leaving London definitely feels like a BIG move. But Folkestone here we come!

 

The sorting of stuff

Having given up my job and therefore sorted and emptied the artroom of my teaching stuff, now I am making a start on sorting home stuff out ready for the big move. We moved into our Leytonstone home almost seven years ago and seem to have accumulated a lot of new stuff since then as well as the old stuff. A few weeks ago I spent two entire days shredding and in the end resorted to burning some paperwork in the chiminea just to get it all gone. Why did I keep bank statements for ten years anyway? That isn’t the kind of stuff worth moving and from now on it’s all online, I promise!

This week I have given away, donated and re-homed a whole pile of stuff in order to make our new life less cluttered and save on the effort of unpacking things I never use, don’t need or don’t really like. But I am not good at being ruthless and find stuff fascinating. Bear in mind I have been an art teacher for many years, used to scavenging skips to fill art stockrooms and collecting strange items to challenge students with weird still life groups. Also I have a thing for stuff that remind me of people from my past. So I have wasted a few hours over the last few days worrying about donating my Great Aunts old hats and bags to a charity shop (they lived in the art stock cupboard for seven years and never saw the light of day). I have kept Great Grannies Victorian shoes of course. Then there are the books I never look at but love to have on my shelves. I eventually donated about twenty books; most were old lonely planets for places I never got around to visiting. The art and cookbooks didn’t even get looked at. They are coming with me.

When it comes to stuff it seems some things never change. I am never going to be one of those people who gives all their stuff up, well not without a fight. But the stuff I love is the stuff that holds memories, stories or history. Stuff, when handled, that becomes a voice telling me something I want or need to hear. So me and the stuff are moving to Folkestone and I for one can’t wait to open those boxes when we arrive and welcome my stuff into my new home.