I break silence after many months of blog absence to update you that I have finally arisen (albeit dragging myself up in a pitiful fashion) from the ashes of DIY and the depths of many, many removal boxes to publicise my soft launch into official cottage residency.

When I say silence, in reality you may have heard the sound barrier being broken by the wild whoops of joy from across the valley where my two wonderful friends have finally reclaimed their house. They originally offered me shelter for three months while they were out of the country, and bizarrely decided not to kick me out when I was still with them 18 months later, even though they were very much back in the UK and should probably have repossessed and deep cleaned their home at this point.

When I last made mention of the cottage, it was to whine about months of biblical rain and to catastrophise that my des res was in danger of becoming a leaking Noah’s ark rather than the water-tight sanctuary I was intending. Thankfully I have been surrounded by an army of optimistic folk who towelled me down, reminded me that I can be ‘kick arse’ when I put my mind to it, and noted that, as I was already paying the mortgage, I might as well move in.

Favourite Son and Favourite Daughter also pointed out that this cottage has been stitched together by love – not mine (I was far too exhausted) – but by the love of the people who have inched me forward, offering time, tools and spare furniture. They opined that it would be churlish not to embrace the adventure when so much good will has been poured in my general direction. (Flipping kids, always chipping in with their wisdom when you are wallowing in self pity, eh?). They were right of course; I may have struggled to show any project management skills but I can hold my own when it comes to accepting lovely gifts. For example, I am now the proud owner of a crocheted dragonfly quilt, a state of the art coffee machine and a new microwave. Love my tribe.

Looking on the bright side, it has taken me so long to move into this cottage that some friends have even forgotten that they have already given me house warming presents and cards. Some friends (I will not say who in case they demand a refund) are on their third gifting, having arrived with presents when I was a new owner last May (not in residence), gifting again when I was attacking that blasted woodchip (last August and still not in residence) and then arriving this week to check that I have permanently moved in (finally in residence. Praise be). Consequently my stock of fizz is pretty impressive and I am enjoying reaching peak candle. I will miss this ceaseless gifting but at least I have the basic ingredients of a great house warming party.

You will be very welcome.

Even my removal men were a gift. I felt it only fair to keep reminding them about the 30 steps up to the cottage when I met them on the morning of the move, but they took this all in good grace. ‘Are you an English teacher by any chance?’ they asked as they lugged the fifteenth box of books up the steps into the cottage, ‘hated English at school, but fair play Love, we need this work out’.

So, recap: since signing the mortgage, it has taken me nearly 12 months to move myself in permanently. I was always a slow burner. Back then I was fool hardy/brave enough (you choose) to bag a cottage full of damp, asbestos and a steep incline, but when it came to actually stay in the cottage for my first overnighter, I totally lost my nerve. I did what I always do when I feel overwhelmed and chunked it down; I eventually committed to one overnight stay, promising myself I would come back a week later and see if I could do it properly. I would treat it like a mini break and outwit my flagging courage by stealth.

Even though I have no curtains (a benefit of living on a hill is that you look down on your neighbours) I then had the best night’s sleep in months. I awoke to bird song and the most amazing sunrise. I was in love.

Mercifully the gifting has continued. When I could not fit my flat packs back together and had a childish tantrum, friends arrived with electric screwdrivers and a can do attitude. The lovely site man at school leant me a whole array of picture hooks so that I could hang my pictures randomly in an eclectic and wobbly fashion. My hairdresser – after sorting out my garden last summer – now arrives with a ‘new’ dining room table when I realise that my old one (which has been languishing in my lock up for 18 months) is never going to dine out again.

Reunited with my books, I realise how much happiness these dusty tomes contain. I acknowledge that my cottage is never going to boast the minimalist look it perhaps deserves, but since my Brother in Law arrived yesterday with a whopping great bookshelf (flat packed so that his dog didn’t get crushed in transit, but also accompanied by an impressive electric screwdriver and complementary spirit level), I can now feel the faint awakening of the Dewey Decimal system and a vague hope that some sense of order may come to this house warming.

Yesterday, Brother in Law also gifted me two beautiful chairs that were my sister’s pride and joy. Already – sitting in one chair and looking across at the other – I start to soften down some of the muscle memory I have been conscientiously ignoring over the last few years; I find Sis’s serenity and wisdom really comforting again (she clearly left this in legacy to my children rather than gifting this to her younger sibling). Sis, in her usual assertive fashion, appears to have moved into this cottage with me and she is very, very welcome. I have missed her.

Some time ago, one of my sister’s best friends gifted me a framed photo of the three of us grinning cheekily at a party – some alcofrol and some irreverence may have been involved at the time this photo was taken. I had not been able to unwrap this photo when first gifted, but its time has now come and I smile whenever I pass it. Indeed, when I went to unwrap the photo, on the back of the frame my sister’s friend has written, ‘I think Hellie would tell us to keep finding laughter and fun in everything, every day’. True that.

So I am hoping that laughter and fun will make this mortgage worth it. I send a photo of my new hillside view to my niece; she messages back promptly, asking me why I have not Air B’n’B’d it yet. ‘Because I would have nowhere to live,’ I reply. ‘No sense of adventure, ‘ she responds, ‘you need to pay for your retirement somehow’. The wisdom of the young.

I see the sense in what she says, but right now I need to stay home to accept the steady stream of flowers and cards that still keep arriving. After all, when she has finished whooping, my friend from across the valley is coming to measure up for curtains (she believes I am wrong about my neighbours not being able to see in). She has heard good things about my new coffee machine and feels I may yet display a gifting in the direction of domestic goddess.