This time last year the thought of moving out of my beloved abode made my stomach churn more than the thought of a date with my dog. (My dog is lovely. But when one starts to consider a canine in lieu of a partner one's stomach should most definitely churn).
I was just far too comfortable with my creature comforts. Get home, bag down, cereal poured, QI on and Bob's your uncle. Does anyone actually have an uncle called Bob? What a hoot your life must be.
When it came to change I viewed it like I view the Plague: if anyone suggests it happening run away and hibernate with the Sex and the City box set until everyone has CALMED THE HELL DOWN.
Now, however, it's much a different story. Gone are the days where I get that itchy feeling in my feet where I just want to get back to my home, or I go home before my breakfast has digested after staying the night at a friends.
If I were to pop out to a gathering of some sort my parents would say to me, 'What sorta time will you be back?' and I'd reply 'I should be back by midnight, I'll see how it goes'.
Now? Now they ask 'what kind of time should we expect you home?' and I call out 'I dunno, Thursday maybe' as the door swings behind me and I lug my stuff over to the Cassidy's.
Perhaps it's an age thing. Maybe when the age of twenty senses that you're round the corner you just suddenly lose the desire to cling onto your childhood home.
I think it perhaps lasted a little longer for me due to the fact I'be never moved house. The house I live in now I was both an infant and a cranky teenager in. Everything that's happened and everywhere I've been has ended with me coming back to these four walls.
So while some may have lost some sentiment for home at the age of thirteen, it's only just happening for me, and it's quite liberating.
If you're experiencing or have already already experienced a similar thing, do let me know.
Just don't send a letter to my house - I probably won't be there.