Church Street

This was my first very own place. After my father moved out of Nancy Street in 1996, my brother and his then girlfriend Lisa (later fiancé, then later ex-fiancé) moved in. We were renting the place from my sister and her husband, who had bought the house from dad, but as the months passed by, the relationship started to fall apart, and in the best interest for all concerned, I moved out.

I had lived away from home before, back when I was student at Newcastle Uni, but this time I knew there would be no return to the house that I had spent over half of my life at. After a short search, I was granted a lease to a two bedroom unit in Church Street. I borrowed a grand from my father, and combined with money I was earning at the time, I was able to pay the bond and acquire a fridge as well.

Moving, well, it was a lengthy process. Most of the work was done by myself and Dave, with one or two of the members from the wargames club chipping in. (My brother at the time was in no state of mind to help me move house.) The first night I was in the place a fuse blew, leaving me without any power. The owner of the units turned up the next morning and cheerfully repaired it, no questions asked, unlike the 3rd degrees I've received at every other place. They were probably the best landlords for any rental property I have ever lived in.

Initially, I was very happy with this place. It was relatively close to everything I needed (work, food, entertainment) and my mate Dave was two blocks and a street up from me. However, it wasn't long until I discovered the problems with this block of units. Firstly, when it rained, it leaked in my loungeroom. Water would trickle down the wall near the socket for the TV antenna. Second, there was no lock on the kitchen windows. This did have it's handy moments however, seeing I had twice managed to lock myself out of the flat and had to climb back in via that window, once clad in nothing more than a T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts.

Third, the couple that lived next door to me were an elderly aboriginal couple. Fine when they were sober, but horrible after they had gotten wasted on port. They would fight and argue into all hours of the night. One night I had to put up with the Elton John song “The way you make me feel tonight” on a repeat for about two hours. On another occasion, myself, and two of the other occupants in the block, called the police after it sounded like he was actually hitting her.

Fourth – Amanda. At the time I moved in, she was 19, living with her husband and two kids in the second unit. Her husband was some nutcase, who had obviously done too much of some illegal substances, and was quite paranoid, believing that every bloke that walked by had slept with his wife. Naturally, yours truly was included, even though I had only moved in a few days before and had never even met them. However, as it turned out, I did end up sleeping with her, but only after her husband was committed and she divorced him. The psychological games that followed were enough to drive a man to tears and I was glad she moved out in 1997.

Fifth – Susan. Another woman I wish I had had nothing to do with. She moved into number five, and was quite nice at first, but after a while things became quite complicated, especially when she had discovered that her fiancé was seeing another woman on the side. For some reason, I was quite infatuated with her, but nothing eventuated, despite my best efforts. In the end she started sleeping with a mate of mine, one that I had been confiding in about my feelings for her.

I lived at this address until August 1998. At this point in my life I had become totally sick of my job at the hospital, Tamworth and life in general and decided to sell up and move on. After camping for a few months at my dad's new home in Bathurst, I then moved to Woolloomooloo.