Before moving onto my customary rant after a long absence let’s start with the positives:
I have moved house. It is a nice house that we now live in. There is no damp problem (I mean, it’s an old property, there’s damp but it’s not the problem of our old place) and there are actual rooms. We have four bedrooms now and a dining room downstairs in addition to a kitchen and a living room. There is no shower but the bath is nice. And we have four bedrooms. Did I mention we had more rooms?
My job continues to be positive. Oh, there’s plenty to gripe and moan about, but it is the general griping and moaning rather than the sort of stuff that threatens my employment and my sanity. This is nice. People have even said nice things about my “can-do” attitude (seriously, is this still actually a term nowadays?) and my desire to be helpful and use my initiative. You know, all the things that my last boss said I was incapable of doing.
The area we are living in is nice. There is a good selection of amenities (we went swimming over the weekend and, joy, there was a place where I was able to dive into the pool – I haven’t been able to do that in ten years and it was such a joy to be able to try it again) and the people are friendly. I haven’t really seen much of them, in fairness, as I tend to set off for work at 6.30am and arrive home around 6pm to 7pm but I can’t complain.
Now, back to the regularly scheduled rantage. I should point out that I have not had a chance to dress since moving in, and that has been more stressful than I thought it would be as I think I got rather used to dressing as soon as I got in from work and spending more time as me. That is, as a self-identified straight male in a dress / skirt and heeled boots. Nor have I had time to play solitaire, which is unusual for me, and Tilly is still too stressed for anything else. I am not hopeful of any great change there any time soon, though she has started wearing jewellery again and buying a new wardrobe – of clothes I mean, not furniture. Anyawy…
Moving is such sweet sorrow. At least, it is if your removal vans don’t turn up on the day and you have to book in an emergency company to get you out of the shit-hole before the buyers turn up. Then you find that their van is too small to take everything, later than the official hand over time, and then they leave you with about half your possessions in said house, after the rest of the family has gone on the train as previously arranged, and as the buyers move in – trying desperately to decant the house into the kind neighbour’s living room, the outside cupboards and the very small amount of space remaining in the car. Then your wife tells you that she doesn’t think that she and the children will actually make it to the new property (they were screaming and in tears when they left you see) and your panicked call to your father, despite eliciting help, now has to cover getting the keys. Oh, and the place you get the keys from has shut. Then you have to drive down, beating the removal men who set off an hour before you, to the new place, hope that the keys are sorted out (they were) and that your wife can make it (she did). Then unpack the madness that is the van into the new house before collapsing the children onto mattresses with your wife. Serve tea and coffee to willing helpers in the shape of my father and his wife and finally arrange some mattresses for myself and Tilly to sleep.
The following day I drive back to the original property to pick up the rest of our belongings. It is the wrong day, Saturday, to book a van and it cannot be done. A friend’s husband arrives to help with his estate car. We manage to pack an incredible amount of stuff into the two cars but we can’t take everything. Some six bin-bags of random things, a wedding present in the shape of a swanky kitchen bin, the cage for the chinchilla, two computer base units and sundry items (including a hat stand) have to be dumped as there is no space. No space. And it’s not worth another trip in terms of fuel costs. Frustratingly I had transferred the money required for the original removal firm to Tilly’s account the night before and so that money was now out of reach for the remaining shenanigans, meaning I had to scrape together extra monies for the emergency firm, for fuel, for provisions and for general costs from, well, nowhere. My carefully built cushion fund thus disappeared. Tilly was unable to access her account (except by cheque) until quite recently and so I’ve been perilously close to being in my overdraft since we moved.
The Girlie remained very stressed, angry and violent for the first week, compounded by my actions the weekend previously where I laid hands on her. Tilly was thus, as you’d imagine, very stressed too. I, of course, was also stressed and ranted at both of my parents about opur general lack of readiness – we had intended to keep packing as the removal people moved our stuff out but, given the lateness of the hour, were unable to get everything sorted. However, I’m not sure I buy the comforting argument that we couldn’t get everything packed in advance because there was no space to move what we had already packed in the first place. Not when we had five weeks to prepare. I’m also not sure that I can entirely blame Tilly for it, after all, each weekend I spent some time with the family out and about rather than packing and having children tends to sap the time one can spend doing other things.
I shouldn’t really harp on about it. But it was a big thing. We still haven’t got reliable internet at the house, nor a phone line and the TV points aren’t universal so we can’t plug in. We really ought to do something about that latter point. With any luck, by the end of the week, we should have a proper internet connection and I can start posting of an evening. In the meantime I suppose something like this will have to do. I hope I can find some images to illustrate this, you know how much I dislike walls of text.
Ah, I knew it was too good to be true. Apparently I can’t run on the temporary internet thing. This whole entry may be posted a few days later than it was written. No, on the day but no chance of images, blast!
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