Wednesday August 23, 2006
Our visit to the house today was more of a taster of life to come than an occasion to get things done. There’s nothing left to do.
I had my journal upload of course, and Graham needed to use my computer to talk to his bank, and to research window blind suppliers. The broadband connection was solid and sweet, though my computer can’t establish a wireless link and will not be able to do so until I’ve unloaded the dial-up and most of the broadband software, and gone on to work through a manual set-up.
My instinct on this is to take a secure backup of all my files, wipe the disk clean, and reinstall the system to factory defaults, starting over again from clean. In my experience, once you’ve let all this stealth software loose on a computer system it’s close to impossible completely to eliminate it any other way. I’ll think this one through and, if that’s what I decide, I’ll do that job shortly after moving in. Meantime, the Ethernet link works perfectly well.
We both of us had phone calls to make, too, so we went from minor task to minor task, drinking coffee and munching croissants on the way. For a couple of hours it was almost as if we were living there.
When we’d done our business stuff we sat down for a final mug of coffee and to listen to the house. I’d turned the heating on for a very short time when we arrived, mostly because the rain had made things feel chillier than comfort demands. There was a touch of wind with the rain, and this is a house that sings in the wind. So it was snug, warm, quiet and comfortable, the rain lashed the windows, and we were reluctant to break the illusion of being home.
For the next fortnight, though, home is back in the caravan, so we packed up and jumped into the car for our return.
“I’m really, really looking forward to moving in,” I said.
“We could always bring the folding beds and a couple of chairs, and some kitchen stuff, and camp out here until the furniture arrives,” I said. “And Dolly, too, of course.”
“Tempting. If we weren’t so busy this week and next I’d jump at it. As it is, not practical.”
“Boring being practical, isn’t it?”
“Yup. I suppose it’s part of what they call being grown-up and responsible.”
“That really is boring. Hey ho. Let’s go.”