I first moved into my bedroom in 1982/3 (I need parental clarification on that one). At the time, it was pink with some sort of rag doll bedding. It’s main features were a doll house and a large toy kitchen. Any time a cloud cast a shadow, I was convinced it was a passing giant and ran to hide beneath the window whilst holding my breath- giants can smell breathing. I spent a lot of time creating fairy worlds under the bed and listening to my fisher price tape recorder play 70s classics. Good times.

In approximately 1988, my parents decided to let me redecorate. This is the pattern that was on my curtains, bedding and small border around the top of my walls:

The coolest 80s bedroom ever

I thought it was the coolest thing in the world…and it was. They also replaced all my bedroom furniture. No longer could I make fairy worlds under my bed, or exercise my hamster in the toy kitchen, or play weird games involving the A-Team, Carebears and dolls house family in various heists. However, I now had a desk and a big bookcase and more drawers than I could have posssibly imagined. And I filled those drawers, and that bookshelf, and the wardrobe …oh how I filled them all. And then I went to university and left it all there.

Recently my parents decided they wanted to sell our old house to move into something smaller. I don’t blame them at all. The house is far too much work and they’re barely there since all of us children scattered. They’re there so little that the house has remained relatively untouched for years. It’s practically a museum to the 1990s. Apart from my fabulous bedroom of course. The excitement I felt when the property finally sold was short lived onceI realised I would finally have to clear out my room…and all those drawers.

However, when I first arrived, I was quite pleased. It wasn’t as bad as I thought. I’d actually cleared out more than I remembered over the years. It was mostly books and a few bits and pieces. Like these:

I like hats

Then, my dad went in the loft and things took a bit of a turn. Apparently, we still had every disappointing exam and essay paper I’d ever completed, a huge selection of teaching journals, every card from my 18th birthday, congratulations on passing exams cards, congratulations on passing my driving test cards, and an inflatable doll I’d been bought for my  18th birthday by alleged friends. Their signatures were beginning to fade, but apparently not the graffitied penis they’d added.

It all took a long time and brought about quite a mixture of emotions. The amount of hard work I’d put into (some) of those essays and notes all just to be shredded- such a shame. However, the memories! I loved spending those few days back at home reliving so many happy times. This is the room where my best friends and I listened to our first albums (that may or may not have been Kylie Minogue and Jason Donovan). This is the room where I wrote letters to Peter Pan and left them in my window (never replied). This is the room where I shared secrets and confessions. This is the room where I hung out with my friends and my brothers. This is the room I used to let Caesar (my dog) sneak into when I was revising. This is the room where I escaped into the world of books. This is the room my parents comforted me in. I cried in this room, revised in this room, dreamed in this room, got stung by a wasp in this room and laughed in this room. In recent years my children have even played in this room with all my old, creepy and disfigured toys. Even when it is someone else’s room, a part of me will always be there (haunting them).

I am so incredibly sad that it will no longer be mine, but I am a glad that a new family will be coming and filling it with memories and laughter. It’s too good a family home not to be filled with a family. I thank you my very pink bedroom, for all that you have given me, and I hope you take very good care of your new resident.

My room in 2017 (and 1989)