There’s a stigma about being 31 and living at home with your parents.

Whenever it gets brought up, I’m quick to point out that I actually left home when I was 18, and I’m only back here temporarily 7 years later after splitting up with the girl I’d been living with … but anyone with basic maths can see that 6 years is now starting to stretch the definition of ‘temporary’.

But … living at home really isn’t a problem to me, the only time it bothers me is when I see it in other peoples eyes that they’re thinking “still living with parents at 31 … hmm”

This week is a bit of an exaggeration, but, after 10 days in Blackpool, I was looking forward to getting back to my own bed (no bed is ever as good as your own), but I’ve ended up with the following complicated sleeping arrangements:

Saturday night (hotel in Blackpool), Sunday night (my own bed), Monday night (at Claires parents in Knutsford), Tuesday night (at Claires pub in Yorkshire), Wednesday night (my bed again), Thursday night (staying at WrongMark’s in Salford), and Friday night (hotel in Wolverhampton). 6 beds in 7 nights! (I was tempted to try to find somewhere different for Wednesday just to get 7 for 7, but that’d just be silly!)

I should buy my own place … but the huge HUGE cost keeps putting me off, and .. when I’m rarely home anyway, it really doesn’t seen worth it. I’d probably arrive home one night to find squatters moved in 4 months ago and changed the locks.