Friday May 2, 2008
It transpired that our latest viewers couldn’t see themselves living in our house after all. Sad for us, but the speed and dedication of the new agent’s follow-up was encouraging after the last lot.
So our first point of call was to the office of the ex-agent, to pick up the paper copy of the Home Information Pack they’d promised to mail to us two weeks back. While there they promised to email me a copy, too, so’s I could more easily pass it on to our present agent.
“I shall not hold my breath waiting for that to happen,” I said to Graham when we’d got out of the office and beyond earshot of the two poor sad souls in attendance.
“No. Let them rest in peace. We’re well shot of them.”
“Fine by me. Where to now?”
“Street. At last.”
Actually, although we refer to our destination as ‘Street’ it is in fact the ‘Clark Village’ we visit–a large site filled with ‘factory shops’, being outlets for major retailers, selling their seconds and sale goods.
It was cold and wet so I kept my camera safely in my bag in spite of my earlier intent to take a few candid shots of ardent shoppers. Actually, being rather more honest, I simply wasn’t in the mood. My legs had taken on a “let’s give the auld bugger a bit of gyp” attitude to life. There’s no arguing with them when they do that and, though you can ignore them for a while, once round Bridgwater and a pass round the Clark Village is a tad over my limit on a bad day.
I found two decent cotton twill shirts, though, so the main target of my day was achieved.
Dinner was a yum, yum, pig’s bum, cabbage and potatoes affair and we shoved our plates back, empty and polished, with simultaneous sighs of satisfaction.
“Might not be a posh meal, but it’s a close second to my absolute favourite,” Graham said, patting his full tummy.
“Oh? What’s your favourite, then?” I asked, as if I didn’t know.
“Corned beef hash.”
“Fair enough. I’ll see if I can’t manage one of those when you get back home on Saturday or Sunday, then.”
“It’s a date.”
And so, not long after, to bed, to dream of the time when my legs could dance better than Billy Ray Cyrus. I can still sing better.