We spent rather too long this morning on odd jobs at home. Sheets leapt off the beds begging to be washed. Eager agents called to sell us a fabulous holiday for Mum’s 70th (oh, the wanderlust… the cruelty of my having to plan an exotic holiday when the most exotic place we’ll be going in the next decade is a Thai takeaway). A long chat with Dougie about how we’re ever going to transform the huge bed of hay we’ve inherited into a lawn. And a glimpse again into Norman’s life through the eyes of the swimming pool man. He obviously enjoyed his occasional visits to get the pool ready so that the elderly Norman could enjoy one his increasingly infrequent swims.
As a result we were only able to manage a few short hours of cleaning. I am still working my way round the kitchen. I swear the units are breeding. The kitchen’s such an important room to be able to unpack when you move in that I have to get it done. I just don’t know how. I’m not sure if it was the grease that was getting me down or that my happy little helper had abandoned me, preferring to leap around the living room in her tutu.
And they days are filling up. Parents’ meetings with the girls’ current teachers and going to get Ruth’s new uniform clash with Ian going to Frankfurt. What do you do to say goodbye at school when you’ve actually already kind of said goodbye in July? Now we have an address and a phone number so we should organise our change of address cards. I almost forgot to cancel our current phone line today.
And on top of that, I have just committed to bring our move forward by nearly a week. It will be better, we’ll have the whole of half term week at the new address… but I must be mad. We start packing on Wednesday (when Ian's in Germany) and move on Friday. A week to go and we’ll be gone.
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