Dear Florence,

On Friday night I felt like I had actually, finally, mentally, moved in. I was home alone after work and several unassuming moments over the course of the evening cemented the feeling that I was home rather than in a nice holiday rental that bizarrely had completely identical furniture to my own.

I was unpacking a few more things, and the spare room was starting to look more like a room and less like a laundromat that had been raided by particularly unfeeling mobsters looking for the jacket of which their godfather had accidentally left several thousand dollars and a photograph of his moll in the pocket. I found the radio/ phone dock so I plugged it in and cranked up some of my favourite tunes. I alternated between cooking dinner (my go-to comfort food of chickpeas, tomatoes, rice and feta) and more unpacking, all the while singing loudly. And I was home.

A little later on, Tallboy came home and we had a lovely, laidback Friday night dinner. It seemed like the first chance either of us had had to completely stop and relax for several weeks. On Saturday morning we concluded the unpacking and made the flat Visitor Ready before strolling to Ashfield and eating Chinese dumplings for lunch. We bought up a cornucopia of winter vegetables which I am now going to roast according to the recipe from a cookbook we  are publishing in November... so I'd better get roasting.

Love from Girlbooker