Last week you will remember that I moved into a new apartment with my super lovely, super wealthy, a little insensitive friend. Well after my initial tearful weekend, things soon settled and I turned my attentions to the bedroom.

 

No, not some rampant sexfest, although that isn’t entirely out of the question, once I’ve reworked my new room. For anyone who rents a room in a house or flat, will know that this room becomes of huge importance. It becomes your haven, your nest, your point of navigation. Everything centres around your room. Therefore, like any true girly girl, I wanted the most beautiful room in the world.

 

But how does one redecorate on a budget? Finally, my money issues actually have led to some fun. Because before I would have probably popped off to Habitat grabbed everything colour co-ordinated and had a very showroom style room. But now I have to think about my room and make it mine.

 

First step was the colour scheme, I decided plums with hints of silvers and blacks. Ok, so I decided to find my dream bedlinen first. I did contemplate heading to John Lewis to buy some fabric, and knocking up my own. But sadly I don’t own a sewing machine, and decided that splashing out on one really wasn’t the way forward. I searched the high street, from the extremely cheap, to the alternative, but in the end I wanted reasonable prices but nice designs and ended up in Marks and Spencers. Because let’s be honest no-one wants second hand bedlinen.

 

After the bedlinen, it was time to turn my mind to furniture. This time I was prepared to go super cheap. I headed off to my local flea market, yes I do know where it is, and was disappointed to find that actually the pieces weren’t all that cheap. Now, that’s the problem with reclaimed being so fashionable. I did go to an out in the sticks jumble sale and picked up a fab lamp, which just needs a spray paint and a screen, which I painted and stuck some cheap wallpaper to. But for the big stuff I decided that the charity shops were the way to go. I managed to find the most amazing dressing table, in walnut, art deco style for next to nothing. I also got my hands on a fab armchair which cost less than £10 and I’ve sent off to be reupholstered. The chest of drawers and wardrobe are grand old things, but in perfect condition off eBay. I think in total my bedroom furniture amounted to £150, now you can’t really beat that!

 

I found some old frames and printed off some of my best pictures, and got an arty friend to play with a canvas for me. So now I have incredible artwork that’s completely personal to me. My room now has the gorgeous, eclectic boudoir feel. My mum gave me a gorgeous jewellery box, whilst my grandmother had an antique vase which just suits the room perfectly.

 

 

Thankfully, just when all has started to seem terrible, beyond repair, my friend suddenly appeared proclaiming her need for a new flat mate. Is she an angel in disguise as an uptown fashionista? Quite possibly. I jumped at the chance to move in with Lizzy, what could be better? A flash flat with mates rates rent, fantastic!

 

So moving day came and it was a dream, an actual dream, moving into this amazing pad, knowing that I was living with a friend. I couldn’t have been happier. Finally I had somewhere that I felt comfortable in. But quite soon the dream became a mini nightmare.

 

Here is my dilemma, I used to splash the cash. We all know that. And so I have friends who also tend to ‘splash the cash’, Lizzy is one such friend. She not only has the perfect job, the wealthy family and the perfect boyfriend, she’s nice to. Which in some ways is so much worse.

 

Obviously we decided to go out and celebrate our new-found housemate status, but where I can afford and where she can afford are two very different places. But I was embarrassed and didn’t want to bring the mood down, and so smiled through clenched teeth and agreed. Off we went to one of the hottest most exclusive clubs in London. Lizzy had on a new fab outfit, I had opted for my old but loved lucky dress, but as we wandered in I looked down and noticed that the chiffon was filled with loads of tiny holes. Of course my self-esteem was now officially at an all time low. I get to the bar, I know that all I can afford is a lemonade, so I get one and pretend there’s gin in it. This all goes swimmingly until Lizzy asks for a sip.

 

And what do I see over her pretty face? Too much blusher? No, not just that but a look of realisation followed by pity, is there anything worse than pity? And then the comments started, “oh, don’t worry sweetie I’ll get you a drink” “I really don’t mind, why don’t we share some champers? I’m so in the mood aren’t you?” I feel my face getting flushed, I’m that mix of anger and upset that comes over in a wave of hot tears. I had to walk, but as I walked I felt myself moving into a slow run, I pushed past another girl, my dress caught on her bag and ripped.

 

Now my stifled hot tears turn into floods, I ran outside, looking like a bedraggled mess, crying over, well nothing really, although it was my favourite dress. So what was it that had set me off? Was it the embarrassment? The exhaustion at having pretended to be fine? I’m really not sure. But it stirred something. And at the same time as wallowing in self pity I was reprimanding myself for feeling so pitiful.

 

But how do you balance the life you had with the one you have now? I have felt fine and been plodding along nicely. But there was something, something about watching Lizzy acting like this social butterfly, drinking my drinks, wearing the dress I would have bought if I could have afforded it, that made me feel like a failure.

 

I got back swapped my torn chiffon dress for a pair of comfy pyjamas, and a copy of Miss Pettigrew Lives For a Day (it always cheers me up). Perhaps it was the culture shock, I had successfully avoided this world for a while now. I’m sure that one day I will be ready to return to that high society lifestyle. But for now I’m enjoying the slower pace, having time for myself. Although, I am dreading seeing Lizzy face pulling that pouting pitiful look tomorrow morning. Can I make her understand? Can I encourage her to try my lifestyle for a while? Unlikely, but perhaps a face to face chat is the way forward.

 

My poor dress, long may it rest in peace.