UPDATE ON MY LIFE IN BUDAPEST, AND THOUGHTS ON WHY GROWING UP IS HARD TO DO

Last year, a close friend visiting from the UK told me I’m living an “alternative lifestyle”. Anyway, I’ve just returned to it – for a third year, and in a new (rented) flat. I don’t know why I feel I have to justify this to myself, but I suppose living here could be considered an irresponsible choice, failing somehow to grow up and grasp the nettle.

The flat is all high ceilings, double doors, large mirrors: the feeling of 19C opulence for less than £200 a month! The previous tenant, a friend and colleague, also left her entire video and CD collection behind, for the moment at least. This weekend, I’ve been finishing off a song on my laptop, and Brindle & I have started a new instrumental piece. It’s the same feeling a child gets when playing – pure, unconstrained fun. We also took the tram to Margit Island, for a burst of colour and to take digital pictures of flower beds and each other.

This afternoon I wandered down a narrow, deserted street where the only sound was the dull beat of my trainers on a dappled pavement, and past an old church into Raday utca, where I’m writing this blog. It’s a tree-lined old world style street, with wrought iron copper-topped lampposts and a parade of cafes. It’s also a perfect early autumn day and the sun is angling in spaces between the high facades. This is pretty normal for Budapest, but basically picture postcard stuff.


Tomorrow, I am back to work. It’s the most fun job I’ve had, and in some ways the least demanding. Not that I don’t have to focus on the work during office hours, but for the first time in my life I don’t often have to take it home with me, and I am not burdened by piles of meaningless paperwork.

Well, I have the nagging feeling that I should be making pension contributions and that I should be a property owner. But I hope this blog goes some way towards explaining why I’m loath to give up life in this beautiful city for a £200,000 mortgage in Bedford or somewhere, and the stale pleasures of trailing round HMV on a Saturday, or doing up the kitchen before settling down for another instalment of Changing Rooms. There is a painless alternative. I’m living it.