While I'm on the topic

Writing about my adventures in the United Kingdom stirred up many, many memories. To date, it was the one of the best years of my life. So much so, that I even have fond memories of some of the less than ideal circumstances I encountered. For instance, I alluded to my wonderful flat that overlooked the Thames in last night's post. This story is screaming to be shared, so here we go. Upon arrival in England, we were booked into the Heathrow Marriott until a proper flat could be located. It took about a week before the housing administrator informed me that they had two flats for us to view. They happened to be in the same complex called The Boathouse. Which at one time had been an actual boathouse. One was on the first floor and the other was on the third floor. We went to the first floor flat first. Walking into the place was like walking into a cave. There was only one window and the ceiling was only seven feet high. Talk about claustrophobia. Guess we know where they kept the boats. Quickly, we passed. Moving on to our other choice, we came to the longest, skinniest stairwell I have ever seen in my life. Since it went straight up to the third floor without any landings, it was more like a ladder than a staircase. We managed to negotiate the long staircase, where we opened the door to a two-room flat. No, not a two-bedroom flat, a two room flat. It was approximately 400 square feet. The “living room” was tiny and the bedroom was even smaller. I lay down on the bed and my head touched the headboard and my feet touched the footboard. The funniest part was that the headboard touched the wall and the footboard touched the other wall. That meant the room was about five-feet, ten-inches wide. On the positive side, it was at least ten feet wide. Stunned, we asked if these were are only choices. The housing administrator said we were welcome to stay in the Marriott until I could find another place. But since we had so many American expats on the project, it could be a couple of months. Not wanting to stay in a hotel without a kitchen for any longer, we acquiesced and took the attic place. After moving in, we found how small the place really was. Since it was an attic, the ceiling angled in to make the point of the roof. The first time I walked in the bathroom to pee, my head hit the slanted ceiling. Looking down, I noticed that it was the exact distance I needed to stand to take care of my business. It was the first time in my life that I was ever grateful that I am only five-feet nine-inches tall. Then it was time for bed, I took my traditional side of the bed which happened to be the side closest to the wall. When I laid on my back, I looked up an saw the ceiling about six inches from my face. You can guess how each of my days started. Forgetting where I was, I would sit up in bed and smack my face on the ceiling. It happened almost every morning. Luckily for me, I have a very hard head. When the pain subsided, I got up and stumbled like a drunk to the shower. I stepped in the stall and attempted to close the door. It hit me in the back and would close all the way. Squeezing tightly against the wall, I managed to get the door closed. There I was, wedged into the tiny stall, trying to apply soap to my body. When I turned to wash the soap off the front of my body, the shower door swung open. Soon I learned that I had to open the shower door in order to turn around. Talk about culture shock. I know, I know. It’s not like I was in the Peace Corps sent to Belize or Upper Volta or anything. But still, less than a week before that, I left my 2,400 square foot, three bedroom, three bath single family home. Now I found myself in a flat that was smaller than my family room and kitchen. On the positive side, the apartment was in Windsor, a town I love, right on the Thames and that tiny little place had seven, counting seven windows. It was light and airy and often times, families of swans would swim by on the river. Additionally, we were so thrilled to be in England, that we were determined to overcome any obstacles thrown at us and enjoy the experience, or more appropriately, the adventure we had embarked upon. Six or seven weeks later, a very nice duplex became available. As light and airy as it was, we jumped at the chance to move to more hospitable environs. We bid a fond adieu to our tiny flat and Windsor and made the big move to Maidenhead. It wasn’t the only time we moved while we were there, but it was the only one we had mixed feelings about. More stories from Paul Gavin. Info on novels Paul Gavin's Storefront. Technorati Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Chapter, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin IceRocket Tags: Fiction, Blook, Chapter, rebeleyeball