Some different planet

Monday January 16, 2006

Well, the paper has started flowing, and the business has begun. A note from the agent arrived today, recording the sale agreement, and they will be sending out formal letters as soon as money laundering requirements are satisfied. I called Sally our solicitor, who was delighted to learn not only that we’ve secured a buyer but that we’ll be moving back to Somerset rather than renting a flat in London. I don’t think she approved of the London idea. She’ll be sending us the standard question and answer forms today, along with a formal letter to open the file.

It seems that selling agents require the buyers to provide idenfication for this anti-money laundering business, too, so I’ve made a note to ensure we both take the appropriate documentation with us to the caravan. Other than that, I don’t think there have been any substantial procedural changes since we last bought and sold.

“Right,” I said. “I’ll start a new boxfile now.”

“Sounds a good idea,” Graham said. “Start it before the paper turns into a mountain on top of the microwave.”

“That’s my thinking. You have to admit, though, that it’s nice to be able to leave a couple of letters on top of the microwave again.”

“You’d fill the entire house with piles of paper if I let you.”

“Just as well you’re here to stop me, then.”

“You better believe it.”

And so the day began. I made a quick trip to Spilsby for bread and milk, and then returned to set up a collection date for the petrol mower. When the drier and the mower are gone there’ll be a working space in the garage to hold boxes of stuff needing to be sorted and sold.

I know it’s the same each time, but I find the gearing up—the lag between the start of a move and real action to accomplish it—to be a bit of a trial. It’ll make no difference of course. No matter how early you start on the job it’s always a rush at the last minute. There’s a distinct feel of “it’ll be alright on the night” about house moving.

Graham will be off to Somerset at the end of the month for about ten days, primarily to handle a couple of special events requiring the bars to be opened but mostly to get the caravan situation sorted. We’ve decided it’d be better for Dolly and I to stay home, keeping the paper flowing and, at least as important, continuing with the big de-clutter.

Gosh but it’s hard to get going after such a long period of sitting quietly, not making a mess. I’d be worried about it if it were just me, thinking that I’ve lost my get-up-and-go, perhaps. Happily, Graham is experiencing the same reluctance and I’m reassured by that.

We’ll be sailing along merrily by the end of this week, see if we’re not, back to the routine of early nights and earlier starts, getting the job done.

I’m looking forward to some active eBaying. With any luck the proceeds will pay for a very cheap laptop so’s I can continue writing when we’re in the caravan between houses—I’m not sure I’ll be able to afford one otherwise. I’ve tried on previous stays to get back into writing with pencil in exercise books but it just doesn’t work for me any more. What slaves we are to technology.

We’d hoped that the ‘new’ caravan, the one to be allocated permanently to Graham while he’s working and to which we shall all move when the house sale completes, would have a telephone line. Sadly, we learned today that the cable was removed some time back and that there’s no hope of it being restored. That shuts off any possibility of connecting to the Internet via dial-up via a laptop while we’re between houses. It may be I can plug into one of the business phone lines, working in a corner of the office, but it looks increasingly like I’ll have to depend solely on the terminals in the library. Not a great problem. Other people manage it and I’m sure I can follow their example.

Nowadays it’s perfectly possible to hook up to the Internet through a mobile phone, but the data transfer charges are so far beyond my budget that they seem to belong to some different planet, far, far away.



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