Number 62 West Parade. 30 May 2007_  The last time I slept in a double bed with the boyfriend.  For one glorious month I was a proper grown-up.  Living in my own [rented] house with friends with the man of my affections round the corner in his own [rented] house with friends.

We met early in my first year of university, he was a kind second year who befriended me on MySpace.  I saw him a few times, there were awkward glances across the dancefloor but no communication away from the keyboard.  He looked familiar but I could never figure out why.  Eventually came St Patrick's Day, the first time I spotted him and actually recognised him outside HSBC so I told my friend.  Being drunk she took the opportunity to shout out his name while I tried to hide in embarrassment.  And there began my love story.  Only I didn't love him.  The boyfriend at the time hated his friends, so disliked the friendship.  I was smitten so I offered to end the friendship if it bothered him.  Not to worry, the love story could continue.  I got dumped because apparently I just couldn't be trusted with him.  I cried a lot.  I thought my life was over.  I look back and I despair.  I despair and I cringe.  However, through the blurred vision of my tears I saw the boyfriend in a different light.  The Kooks were cool at the time, the indie look was in and this boy fit the bill quite well.  Did the ex-boyfriend have a point?  He certainly didn't at the time but maybe he saw something I didn't.  A week or two passed and after a lot of persistance I got my kiss.  A very drunken kiss.  Then came summer so months at home passed and I had once again embraced single life.

Second year of university and we were back to platonic friendship.  The housemate had a bit of a crush on his friend so we had good reason to stay friends, but once again only when drunk and through a keyboard.  In March 2007, after telling him I only wanted to be friends the light changed again.  But as a final year student was I too late?  I was getting him, I was determined.  Using my feminine charms I got myself another drunken kiss, this time much better and I wanted more.  With some school girl tactics of "my friend likes you" from the housemates I gradually wore him down.  The first date, the first sober time together, was in his bedroom watching Buffy the Musical.  He didn't kiss me.  He sat as far away on the bed from me as possible.  This wasn't the plan.  Did he really think I wanted to watch Buffy?!!  When it finished I had to bring out the big guns... the playfight.  Known to all girls, you don't watch chick flicks without taking mental notes of tactics.  It worked a treat.  Men are so easy... a bit of a playful attack with a pillow, a bit of tickling and hey presto, you have a kiss.  But my work was still incomplete.  I had gained myself a sleeping space in his comfy double bed but I still had the ex girlfriend to move aside and the much more pressing 'I'm leaving in a month' issue.  Finally on the 12 May 2007 I got him, but I also sat in curry in my white shorts so in embarrassment in the morning the issue of our relationship status wasn't raised.  Finally on the 17 May 2007 I got him, and this time it was sticking!

For two weeks of our relationship we had a double bed.  He went home to a single bed.  I went home to a single bed.  Even my university house had a single bed.  It has taken two years, but on the 11 July 2009 we finally slept in a double bed together again.  A rather long story just to reveal the news of my new doublebed but more than worth it for the chance to reminisce about the story of getting my handsome man.  The freedom, the space.  I love to be close to him, but the opportunity to just sleep in my own space.  To be 22 and finally have a grown up bed.  Wow!  All thanks to the brother though, he moved out yesterday and after a few hints to him he kindly donated his bed to me.  My large bedroom feels incredibly small now, and is definlitely taking some getting used to, but it is so worth it.

We went to the brothers house warming party last night.  The best house in the town.  I couldn't resist the urge to advise him on a better layout for his furniture but soon after we left.  I am happy for the brother.  And I am happy for the new bed.  But it is a big, beautiful, spacious and very white reminder of just what I don't have.  While he has escaped the house for a more grown-up life living with his girlfriend I feel trapped in a house with a step mother that makes it clear she doesn't want me here, and I still have the difficult goodbye to the boyfriend on Sunday evenings.  I've learnt a lot about my brother over recent weeks.  I have learnt that his seemingly perfect life is far from it, but that doesn't make me feel any less jealous and depressed about my own life. But for now I am going to enjoy some hot chocolate whilst I relax on my [big new] bed watching some TV.