I am not a hippy

Just to clarify: I am not a hippy.

Ok, so my home is a converted horse box, that’s not exactly ‘normal’ but there’s good reason for that (read this if you don’t know the story). It’s just the way that life has worked out.

I shower daily, I brush my hair, I have a job, I drive a car, I eat meat, I know nothing about tarot cards. Think of a stereotype and I probably don’t do it. That’s how boring I am.

Ok, so I regularly run around in the woods for a living, I nearly always have a twig or leaf or small spider in my hair (hazard of the job), I know when the next full moon is and I can identify a whole host of birds by their song. That’s just enjoying being outdoors and noticing the natural world.

I grew up in suburbia, my childhood was as straightforward and secure as anyone could hope it to be. We had holidays, we had music lessons, we were clean and fed and well-dressed, all the stuff that people generally want for their children. My parents were strict with us and we knew where our boundaries were, we rarely crossed them and got a right telling off when we did.

The thing is, my parents always encouraged me and my sister to have open minds. They taught us to be independent thinkers (even when that meant big old arguments between us over the years) and to have an amazing amount of resilience. They have always respected my judgement and my decisions (even if they do let me know in no uncertain terms that they don’t agree). They have always been supportive. 

I have come to realise over the years that I am a very lucky girl. 

Obviously, when I was younger, I thought my parents were right pains-in-the-arse. Of course I did, they told me I had to tidy my room, they made me eat my greens, I got in trouble when I did something wrong. They were parents.

In retrospect, I got off lightly. And they did a very good job of letting me go once I was old enough, and potentially wise enough, to make my own way in life. Here are a few examples (slightly shortened):

Me: I’m not going straight to uni. I want to travel the world and have lots of fun. I’m going to do most of it on my own. Can you lend me some money for a visa?

Them: Er, make sure you go to uni afterwards. Get a job and get the visa yourself.

Me: I don’t want to do my year abroad in St Petersburg with all the other British university students, I’m going to go and live in a small village in Siberia with no running water or phone for 8 months. I’ll be the only English speaker there.

Them: (rolling their eyes) Well, it’ll be good for your Russian. Make sure you email us when you go to the city.

Me: You know that doctor boyfriend of mine that you really liked? I’m single. We’ve given notice on our idyllic cottage in the country. I don’t want to live in the city again. I’m going to live in a 12-foot long caravan at my friends’ place for the foreseeable future.

Them: That makes sense, you’ll be around people you know at a time when you need them. So long as you’re happy.

Me: I’m really pissed off with my full-time managerial job with a respectable conservation charity. I don’t feel valued and I’m being held back.

Them: Why are you still there? Go and work for yourself.

So, to clarify once more, I am not a hippy. I just live somewhere a little bit different.

Jack-in-the-Box

I have a new home!

Yes, it’s a horse box. A gurt big wooden horse box. It’s been a home for almost four years and now, after a five-month wait, it’s my home.

I’ve been in here for almost two weeks and I have four or five times the indoor space that I had in the Pea, plus a huge covered area outside. I definitely feel like I’m going up in the world!

Having a kitchen with running water is a huge bonus. What am I talking about? Having even just a kitchen is amazing!

Kitchen

Lounge and bedroom

The fact that the roof and walls are insulated means that the horse box actually holds the heat, whereas Princess Pea had no insulation at all. The wood burner is big enough to hold whole logs although I do still need to get the hang of it. I seem to either be freezing or boiling, this is not helped by the fact that I managed to snap my indoor thermometer on the first night and now have no idea that the heat is creeping up until it’s too late. I also keep burning myself on the door, which is a bit silly of me.

 

I didn’t think that I would be so excited about having my sofa back. My family have had it since I was small and it’s still the comfiest sofa I’ve ever been on. The combination of the extra space and somewhere snuggly to sit mean that I can now have guests. I can even have more than one at a time! We’ve had tea and biscuits, watched films, drunk wine, and I’ve even had a friend from London stay for the weekend (lovely to see you Clare!). And there are still more to come. All in my home. You can’t imagine how good that feels.

Someone appreciates the sofa

 

There will be a few bits and bobs that I will change over time (the first being the urgent addition of a cat flap) and things that I will have to get used to. In the meantime I’m looking forward to the next part of my adventure…

I just wish the pigeon on the roof would leave me alone. 

The bed in the horse box is raised above the cab of the truck. This means that the roof is only a few feet above my head. The large flat roof evidently makes a nice safe area for a large woodpigeon to pad about on and play with acorns. Over the past couple of weeks I have been woken just after sunrise, on a number of occasions, by tiny feet padding across the roof above my head. And acorns. More bloody acorns. Dropped by the pigeon as it tries to eat them. Above my head. Early in the morning. 

Pigeon, stop it. Or your days are numbered...

A tiny hut on chicken legs?

In Russian folklore, Baba Yaga (pronounced ee-ga) is a sorceress who lives in a tiny hut on chicken legs. She lives deep in the forest and whizzes around in a flying pestle and mortar. Sometimes she acts benevolently. More often she roasts children over the fire and has them for supper.

Baba Yaga's hut is so small that she can lie on her stove (Russian stoves are encased in huge brick chimneys) and reach any part of her hut without moving. It is for this reason that I occasionally chuckle and remind myself of Baba Yaga. Not because I ever fancy roast children for tea.

Baba Yaga by the Hermitage

Although not elevated on chicken legs, Princess Pea is tiny. I can reach most of what I want from my bed and one log too many on the stove sends the temperature soaring. I have to be organised. Boots come off at the door religiously, otherwise I find grit in the bed. I have to be very tidy, not something that comes naturally to me, otherwise I can't find anything at all. And I am constantly losing things. All the time. It takes so little to create clutter, and the storage spaces are so small, that it becomes impossible to find anything.

 The space inside Princess Pea

But the good news is - I'm moving. Imminently!

I'll still be at Hillcrest though. I'm only moving a few metres across the yard. I won't be living in a caravan anymore. I won't be living in a house.  I'm not going to tell you where I'm going to be living until I get there (some of you know already!) but suffice to say, I'm very excited!

It won't be a tiny hut on chicken legs either. Although I did buy a pestle and mortar the other day...