You betcha

Saturday July 22, 2006

“I know what I can do,” I said after I’d visited the house, uploaded the journal, downloaded the email, had lunch and taken my siesta back at the caravan.

“What’s that, then?”

“Paperwork. Sorting out address changes and making sure all the filing’s ready to move in.”

“Rather you than me.”

“Can’t say I actually want to do it but I know I’ll want to do it even less in the first few weeks after moving in.”

“Much to do?”

“Not so much, but it’s all in a dreadful mess, so it needs doing carefully.”

“Sounds a good idea. And it’s cool enough to do it without dripping.”

It is in a dreadful mess, too. Currently, I’m operating from three addresses—the old one in Lincolnshire, from whence mail is forwarded here by the Royal Mail, this one in West Quantoxhead, and the new one in Bridgwater. And it all needs to be consolidated and directed to the Little Town House in the West.

 


 
The Little Town House in the West

 

I could make a list, I suppose, though it’d be a complicated list. Much better, I think, to get all the filing done, and checked, and then work through it account by account, zapping letters off as I go. Otherwise I shall get confused.

I shall get it done in the next couple of weeks, though, of that I am determined. My determination is firmed by the discovery in my letters file of the last change of address from Wales to Lincolnshire, sent off only two months before we moved back to Somerset. See what I mean by the possibility of confusion?

“That’ll get the business side done,” Graham said when he got back in the small hours and I’d reported progress. “What about the personal stuff?”

“I thought the best way to do that would be for you to design and produce one of your special “We’ve moved” cards and I’ll send copies out when we’ve actually got into the house.”

“I’d enjoy that.”

“Just as well. I’ve never mastered Microsoft Publisher the way you have.”

“Perhaps so. Not tonight, though. I’m ready for bed. You?”

“You betcha.”

 

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