sock it to me

Insomnia. I remember when I was single I was a total insomniac. I am reminded of this when my boyfriend has to travel. For some reason I sleep very well when he's here. I keep worrying about things like surges and escalations, warm January, the howling winds that won't stop, is a 20 percent reduction in the EU by 2020 going to be enough to save the planet, and when and from where are we going to get a dog?

I can say now that it's good to be back in Ireland after our visit to the US. I couldn't really say it until now. As of two nights ago I was imbued with a deep sense of relief and a will to move forward when we finally decided to hang on to where we're living and make the best of it. Albeit small, and though it needs a lot of work to begin with, I feel quite happy with the decision to maintain this little house for however long it takes. So, we've abandoned our search for a "proper house" which has space for daughters and visitors and adequate work space for two work-at-home people.

And I feel liberated by this. It felt so fucking right to come to this conclusion. Maybe it's because we finally know where we're going to be for at least a while and we can just get on with it. I can finally sign up for screenwriting workshops in Dublin over half a year in advance because I know I'll be able to attend them. I can focus on building shelves and desks for this house... I have purpose. But it's the reasons why we didn't buy a gorgeous house on several seperate occasions which is making me breathe easiest. Let me explain:

In Ireland, as some of you know, housing has become a hot issue. Houses are being built at a rate of knots in villages far away from Dublin, turning them into new commuter suburbs. Why? Because houses IN Dublin are unaffordable. First time buyers and expanding families are forced to move to places where they can afford to buy. Unfortunately, the road infrastructure is nil and they stay that way because developers are not required to supply roads, even if the development they're building tripples the size of a village. There is not adequate pubic transport to these places. If you live where we do, then you're in luck because there's the DART, a fairly regular light rail service, which runs the length of Dublin Bay.

Elsewhere, there are two seperate tram lines, the LUAS (one line links to no other transport service), which will get you to city centre and you're in luck if you live along one of these lines (although I heard the other day that people are unable to board along the lines because of all the people commuting to the terminus and filling the trains before they've even gone, and that tells me A) they want to use the service and B) there aren't enough services). The bus service is ok inside Dublin, but good luck if you live in the new commuter belt. None of these services are linked. I used to have to get a suburban train into one part of Dublin, then a bus to get across the city which dropped me nowhere near the DART which I had to walk to to get to my job. Nuts. Suffice it to say that if you are living outside of Dublin, your best or only bet is to drive to the city, and you will spend at least two hours each way getting there. I once drove into Dublin in the morning and it took me two hours. And we only live 13 miles away from the centre.

Housing prices outside of Dublin have been going up in response to a kind of land rush. We are at the end of what's considered feasible for any attempt to commute via public transport to city centre. And sometimes it doesn't work properly and we're doubly fecked. But Dubliners have sprawled far to the south of us into South County Wicklow and Wexford, even Carlow, and they make the journey every day. Telecommuting isn't an option because where we are, we only just got broadband. It's non-exsistent beyond here. And yet, despite all this, the prices have risen so much that if you are looking for a house similar to what we wanted, which was something larger than 900 square feet, for 1200 square feet you will be paying an average of €800,000. No land attached to it, miles from anywhere, no broadband, maybe a lovely house but other than that there would be no other reason for being there because your life is in Dublin.

We almost did it. There was a lovely house which ticked all the boxes. It was a really great house. We drove down and timed the difference and measured the distance. It sits beyond the motorway network, so by the end of the journey one would be relegated to class 4 roads wide enough for one car and very heavily trafficed 2 lane highways. It's 20 miles south of where we are now, which is a very long way in Ireland. It takes 25 minutes to travel it in the best of conditions. It is beyond the reach of the broadband area for very likely a few years. It's farther from the airport, which is a bad thing for my travelling boyfriend. It's 20 miles away from the train. And we were thinking of buying it.

We talked at length about what relocation means to us. You move to a new town because you like it there, or you're working there. You move to a new town because it's got something you want to be a part of. You don't move to a town despite the fact that it has nothing for you. We have been close to negotiating a contract on this house and I think while we both liked the house, both of us had our reservations. And staying here where we are seemed like an impossibility for a reason I can't remember anymore. I was panicing. I told him all about how I didn't want to be forced into a completely new life simply because the Irish housing market is so daft. Why should we invest any more money into a system which isn't benefitting us?

The mortgage here will be paid off in 9 years. Why saddle ourselves with a mortgage of just shy €1,000,000 for the sake of a few more square feet? Oh, the things we can do with the money we don't spend on the insane Irish dream of owning your own fine house. These people here are obsessed with keeping up with the Jones'. They have debted themselves beyond their means because you have to have a car no older than 3 years, you have to have a house somewhere else to repair to ("My house in Kerry", "My house in Brittas Bay", "My house in Galway"), you have to holiday in Spain, have shopping trips to New York, and you have to drive yourself into debt at the holidays. Irish life is mad.

So we said no. If there were an Ikea in Ireland, I would be down there aquiring shelves and whatever small-house-space-saving pieces of furniture I could lay my hands on. Without sinking ourselves with a new property, my boyfriend can keep his pension going properly, I might get a car (or at least I could afford to, if it becomes an issue), I can sign up for workshops to help my career safe in the knowledge that I can be there, and when the time comes and the market eases, then we can find the home of our dreams. My man, at least, deserves to have that, having lost the opportunity to live comfortably in several fine houses because of the irresponsible whims of his fickle previous wife. (I think people are somewhat shocked when they see his house, for no other reason than you would expect a TV guy whose salary is published in the papers every year to live in somewhat finer conditions). We can finally get a dog. And perhaps other countries will beckon. Who knows? But without sinking ourselves here and now, other places remains something to be explored. And I feel a hell of a lot better knowing that we're not tied strictly to Ireland if we're not sure we want to be.

There are many places in the world to live and I say you're insane if you buy in to the panic this dump has gotten itself into. It's a nice place to visit, but I don't really recommend living here. Not right now, anyway.