... but I stopped. Now I'm a dad, and may blog again...

Thursday, June 09, 2011

315: doin a moov

Moving house, moving house, moving down the road... (to the tune of that annoying Robin Hood song), and relax a little after the combatitive tone of the last post.  I sincerely want to apologise to myself for getting so far behind on these daily (quickly becoming ‘daily’ with the inverted commas) blog posts.  Hand on my heart, dib-dib dob-dob, God Save the Queen; I will catch up, I swear upon On the Origin of Species.  I’ve just checked the blog schedule on the calendar and as of today I officially should be on post number 321, putting me 6 posts in arrears.

Did I mention I am moving house?  Anyone want to read a few tedious paragraphs about boxes, bin bags and back-and-forth trips in the car?  Tales of sore feet, bumped elbows and not knowing what is in which box?  I really, really, really hope no one is interested, because I am so tired; so fed up with the picking up this box and putting that thing on that shelf, and working out where the furniture fits best, and... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.  

Conclusion: if you are interested you’ll have to make do with your own imagination, or recollections of your own past moves.
Apparently there are like these things called removal firms that will move things for you; get your stuff and put it in a lorry and move it and put it in the new place for you, in exchange for money.  So, instead of my fiancée and I spending two days killing our selves under the weight of too many tomes and bags of bric-a-brac, we could have sat back and barked orders at the workers with the wheels.  By now I could be half way to Vegas, or sitting on a deck chair in my own private moon palace.
We are at the unpacking but mostly living out of boxes and suitcases stage.  Some of my books have found their ways back onto shelves, but it just doesn’t look the same as before; sad face.  I don’t know my address or where I’ve put my underwear.  I’ve lost the remote for the TV and I keep thinking oh, I’ll just phone it, but that doesn’t work; it doesn’t even make sense.  I don’t have a special cupboard for my special super non-stick expensive frying pan
I do however have more wall space to hang pictures, a new housemate who is helpful, courteous and an extremely good cook.  We only moved in yesterday and he has already got my fiancée liking and loving sun-dried tomatoes; the man is a genius.  Next stage: mushrooms.  Speaking of mushrooms, I hope there is enoughroom for all our stuff; I mean, I hope there is muchroom.  No.  I hope we have mushroom, there is muchroom, much, mush, enough room.

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