robert move

Well, everything is ticking along in a ‘nothing to see here way’. Yesterday I got the ball rolling with the house move; on Wednesday week Myfwt and I are booked to see a financial bloke about a new mortgage. If it’s anything like last time it’ll be a breeze. Me clutching a handful of payslips, FB soporifically droning information with me nodding at stuff I really don’t understand, not because I’m stupid I’ll have you know, just mortally disinterested, even if the upshot of my complacency will ultimately cost me dearly. There are regulations to protect the placidity of the bored, so long as you have a fairly reputable outfit, and bear in mind we’re dealing with property business so it’s a question of it being the best of a bad bunch, you’ll probably be okay. That’s my advice, who needs Watchdog eh?

Yesterday at work was a non-entity, in fact, if it wasn’t for a spot of lively chat on yesterdays Piqued I probably would’ve forgotten to breathe. I trudged home and met up with Frank in the local for a pair of Jenning’s finest. We discussed the ways of the world in our usual breezy manner and I was home before 8 in order to glance at Paxman over my shoulder as I prepared supper: stir fry mushrooms, red pepper, spring onion, peas and prawns with steamed smoked salmon. It could’ve been better frankly; I prefer the lightly smoked salmon steaks for a kick off and I prefer them steamed to the point they get partially crispy at the edges. These were neither lightly smoked not were they crispy at the edges. Nonetheless the sauce of butter, garlic, chilli, soy and herbs de Provence lifted the whole thing up -just not high enough for my exceptional fucking palette.

After a baffling Masterchef I pottered about the place doing house things, I must try and see my flat objectively from now on as sooner or later some smarmy cheap-suited oxygen thief is going to arrive with a Nikon Coolpix with a view to marketing my flat. Then I suppose Myfwt and I need to begin the whole hunt for somewhere to live, a task I’m dreading. So keen am I to get the whole revolting process finished and done with as soon as possible I’m inclined to grab the first thing I see, as I virtually did last time. Actually if it wasn’t for the fact the estate agency went bust I would’ve.

After the huge stress of the exchange, a split seconds worth of compromised relief, it’s time for the physical move, the packing, the transportation, the unpacking then the dreadful OCD soup that is ‘settling’, essentially, ‘putting things in practical / aesthetic places’ which for someone like me swings between fanaticism and screaming dementia… it’s going to be hideous.

Fucking hell.

At least the coffee machine is working again. I’m off for a Robert Plant.