Thursday March 30, 2006
We ought to have ploughed in to the business side of the move today. Instead, we had to go over to Leicestershire to return the two Victorian chairs Graham’d bought from an eBay seller and which had turned out on close examination to be rather less in quality and condition than the auction description had indicated. The problem was sorted out amicably but I could have done without the trip today. Tired, I was, to the very bone, and yearning for a couple of daytime naps rather than four hours driving.
Much of the drive is awfully pretty, travelling through what I consider to be some of the best examples of beautiful English rural countryside to be seen anywhere. There were daffodils, at last. And lambs in the fields, basking with their mothers in the sun.
|Lambs, basking with their mother in the sun
And, of course, I got to eat another helping of sausage, egg, chips and beans from the Roman Cafe, situated on the A52 as you approach Grantham from Boston (NOT the A607 as I reported incorrectly last Saturday). That was good, and sustaining, but a little too soon since the last time for me to enjoy it properly. Much as I love British smokey joe cafe food, it’s not the most healthy of diets so I’ve conditioned myself to regard it as a rare treat, to be indulged only once every month or two.
Between the sights and signs of Spring we used the time to work out a moving schedule, to incorporate a rapid trip down to Somerset in a rented van towards the end of next week so’s we can move the patio plants to their temporary home at the side of the caravan. I shall drive back here immediately, but Graham will stay on to see the Easter seasonal burst of holiday makers well served in the bars, returning home on April 23 or 24 for the actual house move, which is scheduled to take place a few days later. Then, after cleaning the empty house and camping out overnight, we’ll set off for Somerset in the car, leaving Lincolnshire for the last time.
The Somerset house hunt will start as soon as I’m over the strain of the move, and the driving. We reckon I’ll be fit to run by April 30.
That’s the plan, anyway. Tomorrow I shall go check the availability of a rental van, and press on with the business of notifying utilities and such of our impending move.
Back home, after a recuperative nap, Graham settled to the task of finalising the choice of laptop. It emerged almost immediately that the fabulous deal on an HP Pavilion model was vapourware. Don’t you just hate vapourware? Nothing daunted, he pressed on, returning to look at the Dell, HP and IBM/Lenovo offerings once more, comparing prices and features until his brain reached melting point.
“I’m almost there,” he said, “but I don’t think I can finish it tonight.”
“Good,” I replied. “Open a bottle and we’ll have dinner.”
It’s not surprising that, despite being happy as sandboys that we’ve secured our sale at last, and at the prospect of returning to Somerset, the stress of the past month has acted to sap our energies today. We’ll be back to normal tomorrow, and there’s plenty of time to work up to full speed, but today we were both of us feeling tired and in need of a short rest. I suspect we’ll get the essential wheels in motion tomorrow and then have a lazy weekend before the fun starts in earnest.
Before I cast the experience back into the melting pot of fading memory, I’ll allow myself one last blast at the twit at the beginning of the chain, who has made what should have been a smooth deal into a fraught, frustrating process. His devious dealings, and his mendacity, are not the behaviour I would expect of an officer and a gentleman. Especially an RAF officer. Even a retiring RAF officer. It has all turned out successfully but it really ought not to have been such a struggle.
After dinner we settled down for a short while to watch an old episode of Two Pints of Lager, laughed uproariously, and then, wilting finally, took ourselves off to bed.
“It’s been a funny old time, Dolly,” I said as she settled at my side. “Worth it, though.”