So with the buying (expensive, but financially responsible in the long run... allegedly) and the moving (mad props to Sam, Thomsk, The Dr Bob and, of course, Thea, for Saturday and what proved to be a remarkably easy and enjoyable experience), I thought I'd done the hard parts.

Boy, was I wrong.

Everything's in boxes, I don't have the right kinds of furniture or enough things to keep other things in, my bed's in pieces, I can't work out how to get my cable, phone and broadband connection set up just as I want it without mass upheaval which means it's costing a fortune in mobile phone bills, I'm having to take baths rather than showers because there's no shower curtain yet, I have to get doors put in for the bedroom and living room (but should they slide or just open regularly?), the European cardboard box mountain is growing outside my house, I can't get the tumble dryer function of the washer/dryer to work, and the guy who sold me the place (Radio 4 presenter John Wilson, son of Arsenal goalkeeping legend Bob, football fans) is still wandering around somewhere with another set of keys of which he seems reluctant to let go.

Consequently while everyone's telling me how excited I must be, I'm actually feeling rather confused and vulnerable.

Not that I'm regretting it. It's a great flat: quiet street, own front door, private back garden, nice floors (although it still needs a rug to tie the room together), great kitchen, good new bathroom, loads of storage space - all in all, phenomenally better than the biscuit that never was. Everybody else seems to like it too, which is pleasing.

And Finsbury Park's a good area - ethnically vibrant, certainly, but without the more threatening atmosphere of Harlesden; good pubs and restaurants; all the shops I need to get through day to day life; even its own sweet, little internet cafe (where I sit at time of writing).

Just what I really want is for everything to be good and easy and perfect now, not in several months' time.

It's hard building a home at the best of times, and I don't feel like a natural homebuilder. I'm frightened of getting matters of taste wrong ("Those cushions with that fireplace? Are you mad? I never want to see you again!") or making decisions that will require great expense or inconvenience.

It's all giving me a tremendous headache. So what I want to know is...

Is it too late to pull out?