This is a place where I feel at home

When I was in Paris I missed a call on my mobile phone and only noticed when I was out shopping with my Occasionally Lithe Friend. I struck my very best Parisian sophisticated pose to listen to the voicemail message which went somewhat as follows ‘Hi Conor, this is Samantha. Maybe you’d like to give me a call back’. This struck me as particularly odd for two reasons. The first being the fact that I didn’t know anyone called Samantha and the second being the element of intrigue she had introduced with her use of the word maybe. I chalked the latter down to the fact that she was Dutch and was translating literally (the accent was heavy enough to tell). If, however, the maybe was a ploy to get me interested it worked wonders. I was eaten up with curiosity. Just who was this lady and what did she want with me?  I was just about to call the number when my OLF informed me that it’s horribly expensive to call when abroad and reminded me that I was trying to economise after all. With those wise words I agreed that I should at least think it over before calling this stranger, besides I was next in line at the check-out and was eager to pay the 80 euro for my ridiculously chic new jacket. I planned to give the whole matter some serious thought later on and subsequently forgot all about it until yesterday when my phone went again.

‘Hi, Conor – it’s Samanatha!’ she cheerfully greeted me. ‘Well Hi Samantha’ I ventured  ’…umm which Samantha in particular would you be then?’ ‘The one you bought your flat from four years ago’ came her reply. And with those simple words went all my dreams that she was a headhunter ready to offer me the deal of a lifetime, or a record label agent who was prepared to risk the company on establishing me as an artist or even someone telling me I’d won a microwave in a local raffle. ‘Well it’s a long time since I heard from you – what’s up, you want the place back?’ I roared laughing at my own hilarity. ‘Well, actually yes’ she replied without even the slightest giggle. Apparently she was looking to move back and wanted me to let her know if I ever wished to sell it. As I have no intentions at the moment the conversation was closed with a quick promise that I’d let her know if and when that day came.

I’ve always loved my Manhattan-style Loft apartment. If my character could be manifested into a living space this is probably what it would look like. I knew it had to be mine the very second I first stepped inside over four years ago. It has lots of crumbly parts that should be receiving a lot more attention than I am able to give but I often look around when I’m on my own and smile happily to myself that I have such a cosy home.

Yesterday afternoon when I got home from work I smiled even more than usual with the knowledge that though it may have other admirers it’s mine, all mine.