Friday February 29, 2008
To Bridgwater, taking in our id documents to the agents for ‘anti money laundering’ purposes. We picked up a draft copy of the house particulars for approval, and I was a little bristled to discover that we have in addition to provide documents to prove that the house is freehold before they can take it to market.
This perishin’ country is getting to be identification and document crazy. I discovered to my alarm in the supermarket t’other day that they are no longer allowed to sell aspirin tablets to anyone under the age of eighteen. I have distinct memories of being sent, as a tot, to the local chemist to get my mother a pack of aspirin once a month or so.
It’s easy to determine the justification for such stupidity but that doesn’t make it any the less stupid.
So, anyway. Bridgwater. Lunch time. Starving poet surrounded by smells of stuff cooking.
“I need food!” I cried.
“You can wait until we get home.”
“No I can’t. I need food, and I need it now!”
“Well, where do you suggest? I don’t want coffee shop pannini twice in the same week.”
I had to think hard and effectively on that one. Graham doesn’t trust much of the food served in my favourite eateries.
“Tell you what. Let’s give Subways a try. You can see the sandwich made in front of you, and choose exactly what’s to go in it.”
“Ok,” he said, reluctantly. “But if I get food-poisoning you’ll have to nurse me. Again.”
He was pleasantly surprised, though. We had what they describe as a ‘6-inch Italian G.M.T’ on Italian cheese bread. Clean, tasty, satisfying, and very, very cheap.
“I’m impressed with this,” said Graham, munching happily.
“Thank heaven for that. It’s getting hard to find places where you’ll eat these days.”
“I know. Put it down to seeing the other side of low-grade catering.”
Back home I was dizzy with sleepiness, and tumbled under the coverlet for my siesta. When I woke I read through the house particulars and was not much impressed. I’ve marked the draft copy up for revision and we’ll have to take it in to Bridgwater tomorrow.
I fear that I’m already finding this house sale wearisome. I dreamed about it last night; always a bad sign.
I did manage to process a few of the house record photographs. These click-able thumbnails show the ground floor. The back garden, the breakfast nook, two of the kitchen, the dining room, and the downstairs cloak room: