Ma Petite Maison.

Here is my house! I should clarify -- the red half on the left is my house. The brick half, from what I can tell, is inhabited by two young parents and their newborn, who I can occasionally hear crying at night, as we are seperated by a very thin wall. Actually my flatmate Michael just informed me there's a cat in the neighborhood that sounds like a baby crying, but it's really a cat. So maybe it's a cat and not a baby. Regardless, the mother sings to it when it cries long enough, which is rather nice. (But which would be kind of strange if it were actually a cat..... anyway.)

My flatmates are Michael, from Northern Ireland, Andrew, from Portsmouth, and Sarah, also English, who arrives next week, but who owns a guitar and a record player, so I already like her. Something rather odd is that I know 2 guys in other countries with the exact same first and last name combinations as both Michael and Andrew.

My room is on the top of the 3 floors -- a large loft.

It was just carpeted today; I talked the landlord into going with a neutral colour vs. purple (his choice) and the ancient rose colour that covers most of the house except for the boys' rooms, which have navy blue carpet, naturally. It is fantastic to have my own, big space.

The best part is that to get to the loft, you must ascend what I've started calling The Stairway of Death. Not only is whatever the stairs are made of (under the rose carpet) starting to erode, one of the railings is loose, and when you open the door at the bottom, there's another LARGE unexpected step, which I'm constantly forgetting exists. I've started limiting my water consumption after 7pm so I don't have to risk my life coming down the stairs to pee in the middle of the night. I voiced some concern to the landlord yesterday about the stability of the stairs, and he proceeded to jump on each one several times to ensure their strength (he's a rather entertaining man).

Here are a few funny things I've learned about the house over the last week:

-- there are no electrical outlets in the bathroom. Zero.

-- the entire back of the house is slanted downwards. I put my cup down on a windowsill in the livingroom, and it slowly slid backwards until it was touching the window. It's like living in a gravity-defying orb, or the Leaning Tower of Pisa. And also makes me wonder how soon the whole house is just going to collapse. Or split in half. Or just tip over sideways.

-- the bathroom is substantially larger than the kitchen.

-- if you turn any of the hot water faucet handles all the way on, you will instantly have a. water so hot you could easily steep tea in it and b. third degree burns on whatever part of your body you had under the faucet.

-- my room has 3 different crawlspaces in it. And another one in the ceiling.

It is old and drafty and creaky and crooked, and I am slowly growing to love it, because, as my landlord likes to point out, 'it has character!'. Especially compared to the university housing high-rises a few blocks away, which are closer to the school but tiny, sterile, and right next to 2 of the busiest [noisiest] roads in the city. Here, I go to sleep to the sounds of cat baby, and wake up to mourning doves cooing. Not unlike being at home, actually.