Logging on to Facebook, these days is a minefield.
My newsfeed on most of the social networking sites consists of newborns, weddings and scan pictures (seemingly, your mush needs to be on the world wide web before you’re on the earth), all very nice and evidence of my old school friends and workmates growing up and moving on.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m very happy for them but, me? I’m perfectly happy to be knee deep in new shoes rather than dirty nappies.
But there is one announcement which does make me think about the direction my life is actually
The new house.
Pictures of smiling couples at the front door of their new abode, Instagram snaps of a bunch of keys, welcome mats, moving vans. Kill me now.
Recently a survey dropped into my inbox announcing the death of the bachelor pad. Seemingly more and more young people are staying at home well into their 20s rather than moving out on their own.
In 2011 3m “children” aged between 20 and 34 were still living at home with mum and dad.
Gone are the days of finding a tiny flat in a disreputable part of town with friends, Lazyboy recliners and a diet of pizza; the Joey and Chandler lifestyle is out and the comfort of the family home is in. I have lived in the same house for almost 28 years. Sure, it has advantages like low rent and, thanks to my mother’s obsession with feeding everyone until they are stuffed, a full fridge and though I pretty much take care of myself and my seven-month-old fur baby (just call me the crazy cat lady) there’s a small niggle that life is just stalling.
Rising house prices while pay sticks at the same rate isn’t much help for securing that ever-elusive deposit and the fact my younger sister and her other half have been in their own home for a year now just adds fuel to the fire.
But let’s weigh things up.
As I write this I’m sat at my desk in my bedroom, typing on my iMac, brew by my side, connected to wireless I more than likely wouldn’t be able to afford, never mind electricity and heating. If I lived on my own there’s the possibility I’d be sat with my cat watching Great British Bake Off on my own.
Living at home means I get to watch GBBO with another human being, my mum! Creepy crawlies in the bath? No problem, dad to the rescue. Maybe I’m looking at moving out through rose tinted glasses?