ONE BEDROOM, HARBOUR VIEWS AND PARENTAL SLAVE LABOUR

Apparently Australians live in the largest houses in the world, so Gregory and I have decided to help lower that average by moving our little family into a one bedroom apartment.

Before you start feeling sorry for us, the balcony does have a view of the harbour bridge.

So there.

We will be the envy of all come New Year’s Eve.

Of course we’ll be lonely, because the balcony is about double the size of Miss Q’s cot so none of our friends will be able to fit up there to enjoy the view with us.

I am very aware of how big Miss Q’s cot is, because as it is a one bedroom apartment, it appears she will be sleeping in our room.

Forever.

Or at least until we can afford to move into a two bedroom apartment.

Bloody Sydney housing market.

We were meant to make this move when Miss Q was referred to as ‘the peanut.’ She wasn’t even a human yet. But the poor people who were the previous tenants had their renovation held up because someone complained about the colour they intended on painting their front door.

So now Miss Q is well and truly human and the concept of sharing the same room with her seems slightly more ridiculous than it did before she arrived.

The apartment sits above the house of a family friend, which brings about another set of problems.

Not the house, the family friend.

‘What is that hanging at the end of the closet?’ I say to this friend who’s name shall be George.

‘That is my Spanish cape.’

‘Your Spanish cape.’

‘Yes. It is an original Spanish cape. It’s very precious. I need to keep it up here because it doesn’t fit in my wardrobe downstairs.’

‘It takes up half the closet George!’

‘I know. It won’t even fit in mine.’

‘Where am I meant to put my clothes?’

‘Up the other end.’

‘How does that help? Where will Gregory put his?’

At which point my father butted in and said; ‘it’s your bloody cape George, you want it, you take it with you.’

Which was very helpful but fair enough because George is his friend to begin with.

George is also very lucky because nothing has been done to this apartment for thirty years, including cleaning, so he is getting some serious cheap labour in the form of…my parents who spent all weekend scrubbing, sanding and painting the place while Gregory and I worked and attended Miss Q’s closest friend’s naming ceremony.

I’m beginning to wonder if there’s something to my parents’ willingness to help. Perhaps they’re not as sad to see the back of us as they’re telling us they are…