I am now moved into my new flat. And I don’t want to move house again. Having said that, I haven’t taken my last breath yet, so there’s a good chance that my desire might not translate into reality. The last couple of house moves my bro and his wife – for whom I work – have made have coincided with moves I have made as well. Bloody poor planning on their part, I must say. It’s damned awkward, both of us trying to run a business and work at the same time as us both moving house. They have to cut it out.
Recently, I asked them how long they thought they would be in their new place, just so I know to prepare for another move myself, and they thought that it wouldn’t be very long – maybe a couple of years. Not what I expected to hear, and I confess that the agonised groan which was heard immediately after that did come from yours truly. My situation is that I need to stay in my new flat for at least a couple of years for tax purposes (I won’t bore you with the details), after that I’ll decide whether to stay or go. In my heart there’s a skirmish going on between feeling certain that this isn’t my last place of residence, and wanting it to be.
In the grand scheme of things it wasn’t the worst house move ever, as it was just down the driveway from the back flat of three to the front flat. Nothing compared to moving to a different country. I have moved countries in my youth, but only had a couple of suitcase to pack to take with me. How time and acquiring stuff changes us, eh? However, there were still the inevitable bumps and kinks to overcome and iron out even between flat three and flat one down the driveway.
But I’m here now, and as I write, Scott and Liam are putting the finishing touches to the landscaping outside. I can honestly say that no one who knows me will ever have seen a lawn and garden like that before in any place I’ve lived 🙂 Their preparation has been meticulous, and even though looks fairly standard, it’s a job brilliantly done. I must admit that I was a bit dubious about the prospect of having a perfect lawn and garden, but there’s also a certain liberation in it not being quite such an unkempt beast silently, but constantly, admonishing me for not being the Good Gardener.
My cat, Patrick, had his first barf on the new carpet eleven days after moving in. Aren’t cats a mystery they way they always have to barf on carpet? They can be chewing off a bit of grass outside, but come inside to barf it out on the carpet. If they’re feeling a bit seedy after eating breakfast or dinner, they don’t barf on the kitchen floor; oh, no – that would be too easy – they grace the carpet in the lounge with their stomach’s contents. I bet they don’t even know why they do that, so even if I could get inside a cat’s head, I doubt if I would get an answer. Ah well, I guess they’re not unlike many of us in that respect.
Barfing is clearly a tiring business, because then he had to go for a lie down afterwards.
On the whole, even with teething problems (of which there have been a few), barfing cats and all, I think I’ll like living here. If not, well my bro and his wife may be moving in a couple of years ……..