It's a gruel, gruel world

Far be it from me to give you a nice list of heart-warming, Judy Blume-alike moments of emotional and personal growth (because it would make nauseous reading . . . as well as because I don't seem to have any), but even in the least Chicken-Soup-For-the-Soul of adolescences there are times you can't help but marvel at your sudden maturity.

The first time you make a vaguely scary phone call without trying to make someone else do it for you.

The first time you tell someone to take their coat off indoors so they'll "feel the benefit" when they put it on again.

The first time you can watch a sex scene on telly with your parents without pretending to be furiously engrossed in the carpet pattern.

Oh, and yesterday's particular example: leasing your first house.

Perhaps not quite on par with resisting the urge to say "excuse me" after a trumpeting train horn goes off, but it's still pretty big.

I'm giggling into my Coco Pops.

How we've managed it I don't know.

Ten days ago, it was looking increasingly likely we'd end up fashioning our own flat-pack bedsit out of empty Foster's cans and squatting in a discreet corner of Regents Park until Charles Saatchi discovered us and had us pickled as a kind of zeitgeist symbol of heartless government bureaucracy.

Which would have been nice, but a bit nicer is the five-bedroom end-of-terrace townhouse we've suddenly found and managed to fool some estate agents into thinking we're worthy of sleeping in.

Ten days ago, we were mere children, now we are adults who use terms like assured short-hold tenancy contract and get excited about coving.

Of course, there are snags.

Somewhere in between assigning ourselves roles from the Our House lyrics ('Tara wears her Sunday best/Kirsty's tired, she needs a rest/Pete is playing up downstairs') and arguing over whose gubbins would best complement the massive front bedroom (mine, mine, mine), we've realised we won't be able to afford to eat next year.

Unfortunately, Kirsty of Phil-and-Kirsty has influenced me beyond just a liking for statement coats '“ we've chosen location, location, location over food, glorious food and decided proximity to decent shops is more important than having the means to buy stuff from them.

So in keeping with the Victorian authenticity of our new home, we're going to live on gruel. Yum.