We arrive at my house only 20 minutes later after a silent ride, all the guys either resting their eyes or listening to music on their earbuds. I have been mentally packing a bag, locating all my necessary documentation in my mind, choosing my favourite outfits. I've been allocated 15 minutes to collect all I want to before we need to leave for the airport. So generous! It's a good job I keep a half packed hold-all under my bed.
The driver pulls up outside my home, a small mews house just West of Central London, and immediately every person in the van turns to look at it.
I love my home. It is very typical of its kind to look at, with light sand coloured brickwork, white sash window frames and windowsills. A Georgian balustrade around the roofline, protecting users of the terrace from falling, glossy black front and garage doors at street level and another above it, accessed by a set of the steepest stone steps you've ever seen, a black wrought iron railing the very necessary safety element here.
I open the van door and step out onto the cobbled road leading to my open garage door, turning to tell Jimmie I won't be long, then close the door.
I always leave the garage open when I drive. Space is at such a premium here that a garage is actually used for purpose, rather than filled with the clutter and rubbish that if you needed would be inside your home.
Oh shit!!
My car! It's still at the retail park the boys did their fan sign event at earlier today. How the hell do I sort that out? As I rummage around in my bag for my door keys I realise only 9 hours have elapsed since the event but my entire life has changed in that short time. I will walk away from my beloved and hard earned front door for the last time in at least 365 days. This thought makes me pretty emotional, the tears that immediately spring to my eyes making the task of locating my keys even more difficult, blurring all the shapes at the bottom of my bag into one.
I can't believe I am doing this but I am getting so frustrated I can't find my keys, and embarrassed to be crying incase I am seen that I turn my bag upside down and shake the contents onto the cold ground, with a little more vigour than was needed if I'm honest, scanning the pile of items with my eyes whilst crouching to rake through them with my fingers too.
I finally locate the keys and release a long sigh before frantically stuffing tissues, baby wipes, deodorant, tampons and paracetamol back into my bag. I reach for my purse as a strong hand does also. Noah has got out of the van to help me and I didn't even notice.
I thank him as he hands my purse to me and we stand up, my bag once again full of the detritus of a jobbing journo! I have lived out of this bag for 3 days in the past. I keep a toothbrush in a little toiletry bag, and even have some spare...
"... knickers!" Noah says as he reaches out towards me, his palm upward, index finger hooked. Hanging from said finger are a pair of the most unflattering knickers I own, my 'all purpose' comfy cotton knickers. Their only redeeming feature being that they are black with a thick lace waistband. Oh the shame!!
I slowly reach for them with a sheepish grin then become aware of some rather loud whooping and am horrified to see that almost every pair of eyes remaining in the van are fixed on this exchange, huge grins on their faces. I stuff them into my pocket and make a mental note to add this mortifying situation to my memory bank of evidence that a kind and just God clearly does not exist. Why else would he or she torment me so?
I rush to open the door that separates the back of the garage and the inside of my home and reach in to turn on the light. I place my bag on the console table there and turn to close the door to see Noah, who has been joined by Jimmie, about to step into my home too.
"I'd really like to see your home Sydney, if you don't mind too much" he enthuses.
I love my home, and I am proud of it too. Of course he can have a look around. I wonder whether he will appreciate all the little features that made me fall in love with it the first time I saw it, all the small details and character that since moving in 8 months ago I have marvelled over everyday, so concerned I will become blasé to their beauty. I won't see them again for a long time after today. I must pay extra attention now.
"Sure. Show yourselves around though, I'm on a bit of a tight schedule right now" I throw over my shoulder sarcastically as I head to my bedroom to begin collecting my things together, pulling my part packed hold-all onto my bed and beginning to add all my other necessaries.
My bedroom is my least favourite room. I am single, an insomniac and for some reason my brain works better and faster during the night, so I spend many hours lying on my bed attempting to sleep but distracted by the large cold space beside me, the memories of the sensation of skin on skin, and thoughts of all the activities I could be indulging in if only I wasn't alone. Self inflicted emotional torment.
I moved in here after separating from my husband of 6 years. I needed a fresh start so I moved out of our shared home and left everything behind, clothes, furniture, everything that would remind me of him. I spent almost five months in a cheap hotel. I had bought a few items of smart workwear and some basic essentials to allow me to continue to work and ate takeaway every night that I didn't skip dinner completely.
I found this house purely by accident, coming into the street to interview a female television presenter who had made some interesting and scandalous accusations against a male co-presenter. The story was huge, the biggest of my career at that point. The young lady in question told me she had read some of my work and wanted to give me the exclusive, telling me she believed in my integrity. Sure, nothing to do with the fact that I am the soon to be ex daughter-in-law of the accused. This girl will go far, she knows how to exploit an angle. That story took some writing and was an education in remaining impartial in the face of absolute evidence against the accused. I cannot be seen to condone nor condemn the actions of any involved party, and having a personal relationship with the accused made it even more imperative I was seen to be fair, but the evidence I was shown was compelling, I also knew his character well. I couldn't see how he would be able beat those charges.
She gave me the customary tour of her home while we chatted about trivialities, her pointing out all the lavishly expensive and minimalistic items of furniture she 'just adores' and telling me the names of all the architects, designers and stylists she worked with to refurbish it, to bring it fully into the 21st Century by eradicating every beautiful original feature, leaving an angular, sharp and stark white box, fitted with cold stainless steel, chrome, white gloss and glass, and furnished with a 'cool, neutral and aura cleansing palette of muted grey, blues and greens'
Pretentious AND Horrendously ugly!
While listening to her small talk and taking some photos of her in various rooms and poses throughout her home I found myself wondering how it had looked when it was originally built and asked her if she had any photos of it before the pernicious transformation had been undertaken. She shook her head and said that she wanted no reminders of the 'elitist, excessive and ostentatious' period it had been representative of.
I wonder why people with these feelings about our stunning and historic architecture and design buy these properties just to rip their hearts out?! Or perhaps that in itself is the reason?
I explain what a shame that is as the story of her 'glamorous home refurbishment' would be a great follow up story, how having this distraction had helped her through the trauma of the incident with her co-presenter.
She tells me that the house 2 doors down from her is for sale and is in its original condition, then suggests that I view it to take some internal pictures to use in the story, which is exactly what I did.
I didn't intend to buy it, I was just intrigued to see the house in its original state. I wanted to feel the history, picture the people who had lived there, imagine the activities that took place within its walls. How many births had it seen? How many deaths? Any intrigue or scandals? What lifestyle did its past residents lead? What socio-economic changes has it witnessed?
I was floored by how absolutely stunning an empty house could look. White walls, woodwork and gorgeous solid oak floors. A true blank canvas, but with life in its bones, with a soul! I find it hard to explain how it made me feel, the best I can manage is to say it captured all of me..... my imagination and my heart. I fell in love. It just felt like my home!
I nearly cried when the agent told me the price, but I had been saving for the last 10 years whilst living with my husband, had recently had a promotion at work and was also expecting a generous divorce settlement from the philandering actor to whom I had been wed. I could afford it.... just!
My first night here was an interesting one. I spent the night alone on my newly finished floor, the aroma of the freshly sanded oak and the sandalwood oil hanging comfortingly in the air. I had a torch and a deckchair, an inflatable mattress and sleeping bag, fish and chips and a bottle of prosecco with straw, no glass!
It was heavenly!!
I'm just leaving my bedroom with my hold-all, packed with underwear, a few favourite casual outfits and essential toiletries and make up, my favourite perfume and my power leads when Noah and Jimmie wander into my room.
"Your place is gorgeous Syd, I love it! Shame the weather sucks so bad here in the UK... I'd love a place like this in London!"
"Thanks Noah, I love it too. I'm gonna miss it so much. Still, it'll still be here when I get back. I just need to grab my laptop and passport from downstairs in my study and I'm done. Let's go shall we?"