The move out turned out to be a complete disaster. It started going pear-shaped when Shenley Domestics turned up on Friday lunchtime and after much huffing and puffing the mechanic announced that the dishwasher needed a new motor. Andy said that the new part would cost us over £100 and when I got hold of Phil finally after his team meeting, we decided that we would renew rather than pay out for a repair. So when Phil finished work, we went to Morgan’s to sign tenancy contracts and then drove to Curry’s to choose a new dishwasher.
Unfortunately the cheap machine that Phil had seen on the internet wasn’t in stock so we shelled out for another ‘Hotpoint’ and paid more for it than we really wanted. We decided to have another party night celebrating being home alone because it was our last night in the house. Phil was reluctant at first, to watch the ‘Sex in the City’ DVD but eventually settled down and he enjoyed it as much as me in the end!
On Saturday morning we started the move out, dealing first with the job of changing over the dishwasher. For some reason I knew this would be troublesome and I was right; the new free-standing dishwasher didn’t fit into the IKEA wall unit so we had no choice but to dismantle it. Not an easy task I can tell you and the whole job, taking in hand a trip took to Sid Telfers’s for a new hose and a trip to the Wolverton tip to dump the old machine, took us the best part of 3 hours. Not a good start, I can tell you!
Eventually after several trips to the kebab flat, we eventually laid down our hats with minutes to spare, just before 2pm, which ironically was just in time for the start of the Singapore live qualifying. While Phil viewed with his feet up on the pouffe with a beer, yours truly, unpacked
. I 
didn’t mind because I don’t much care for the qualifying and wanted to unpack things myself. But this turned out to be a bad idea and I worked myself into a really dark black mood. When the qualifying finished, Phil, who really wanted a kebab, agreed to take me out for a meal at The Hub. This turned out to be a complete waste of money; I was in such a foul mood, that nothing was ever going to please me. We went to a dim sung place and Phil had a really bad ‘Singapore Noodles’; I had the Thai green curry which was nice but obviously not freshly cooked and micro-waved on such a high setting that it burnt my mouth. 
I am ashamed to say that my bad mood continued into the night and in the end Phil retired to bed. I can’t say I blame him, so our first day in the kebab flat wasn’t good; it’s not an exaggeration when I say, I hate the flat. I knew I was going be sad at leaving our house but actually living in this flat is altogether a different experience and one that I would probably enjoy if I were 20 years younger. I’d drunk enough wine after my black mood to get to sleep but poor Phil, who had suffered enough of my strop, was kept awake by the couple above us who had not got in until after 1.30pm. They then fell out with each other and started fighting and Phil ‘bless him, was kept awake until nearly 4am. Ironically this was the time I woke up for a wee and seeing the dark prison-like walls, I decide to get dressed and headed back to GP.
It was so lovely being back home and after a cup of tea with stale milk, I finally laid my head down in the computer room, kipping for a few hours on Harriet’s old futon mattress which actually wasn't that comfortable. Still, I managed a couple of hours kip and was back at the kebab flat by 9am. Phil was already up and was cooking a lasagne for our lunch which he found difficult seeing as it is such a small kitchen. We then went back to the cul-de-sac to get a few bits, favourite knives, some wood for the shelves in the kebab airing cupboard and a few other bits and pieces. Then we went to Tesco’s for a few supplies (wine!) and dropped these at the kebab flat then went to David Lloyd for a quick shower and back ‘home’ to watch the Grand Prix.
And that just about covers moving in and the weekend. It’s not ‘our home’ yet; that will take some sorting. I should say at this point that Emma from the cul-de-sac sent me a text yesterday to ask if everything was okay as she had seen my red car back at the house in the early hours. She then sent me a text to say that she'd been kept awake all night by music blaring from Alan's house and Neils dogs who had been left alone and were barking. I relayed this to Phil who said, just goes to show it doesn't matter where you live! If I had the choice (and I don't) I think I'd rather live with poker parties and barking dogs rather than crackheads; but hey-ho, some you win and some you loose. At least Phil managed to chill out after the race. Me, I should stop moaning and count my blessings because things could be a whole lot worse.
Unfortunately the cheap machine that Phil had seen on the internet wasn’t in stock so we shelled out for another ‘Hotpoint’ and paid more for it than we really wanted. We decided to have another party night celebrating being home alone because it was our last night in the house. Phil was reluctant at first, to watch the ‘Sex in the City’ DVD but eventually settled down and he enjoyed it as much as me in the end!
On Saturday morning we started the move out, dealing first with the job of changing over the dishwasher. For some reason I knew this would be troublesome and I was right; the new free-standing dishwasher didn’t fit into the IKEA wall unit so we had no choice but to dismantle it. Not an easy task I can tell you and the whole job, taking in hand a trip took to Sid Telfers’s for a new hose and a trip to the Wolverton tip to dump the old machine, took us the best part of 3 hours. Not a good start, I can tell you!Eventually after several trips to the kebab flat, we eventually laid down our hats with minutes to spare, just before 2pm, which ironically was just in time for the start of the Singapore live qualifying. While Phil viewed with his feet up on the pouffe with a beer, yours truly, unpacked
. I 
didn’t mind because I don’t much care for the qualifying and wanted to unpack things myself. But this turned out to be a bad idea and I worked myself into a really dark black mood. When the qualifying finished, Phil, who really wanted a kebab, agreed to take me out for a meal at The Hub. This turned out to be a complete waste of money; I was in such a foul mood, that nothing was ever going to please me. We went to a dim sung place and Phil had a really bad ‘Singapore Noodles’; I had the Thai green curry which was nice but obviously not freshly cooked and micro-waved on such a high setting that it burnt my mouth. 
I am ashamed to say that my bad mood continued into the night and in the end Phil retired to bed. I can’t say I blame him, so our first day in the kebab flat wasn’t good; it’s not an exaggeration when I say, I hate the flat. I knew I was going be sad at leaving our house but actually living in this flat is altogether a different experience and one that I would probably enjoy if I were 20 years younger. I’d drunk enough wine after my black mood to get to sleep but poor Phil, who had suffered enough of my strop, was kept awake by the couple above us who had not got in until after 1.30pm. They then fell out with each other and started fighting and Phil ‘bless him, was kept awake until nearly 4am. Ironically this was the time I woke up for a wee and seeing the dark prison-like walls, I decide to get dressed and headed back to GP.
It was so lovely being back home and after a cup of tea with stale milk, I finally laid my head down in the computer room, kipping for a few hours on Harriet’s old futon mattress which actually wasn't that comfortable. Still, I managed a couple of hours kip and was back at the kebab flat by 9am. Phil was already up and was cooking a lasagne for our lunch which he found difficult seeing as it is such a small kitchen. We then went back to the cul-de-sac to get a few bits, favourite knives, some wood for the shelves in the kebab airing cupboard and a few other bits and pieces. Then we went to Tesco’s for a few supplies (wine!) and dropped these at the kebab flat then went to David Lloyd for a quick shower and back ‘home’ to watch the Grand Prix.
And that just about covers moving in and the weekend. It’s not ‘our home’ yet; that will take some sorting. I should say at this point that Emma from the cul-de-sac sent me a text yesterday to ask if everything was okay as she had seen my red car back at the house in the early hours. She then sent me a text to say that she'd been kept awake all night by music blaring from Alan's house and Neils dogs who had been left alone and were barking. I relayed this to Phil who said, just goes to show it doesn't matter where you live! If I had the choice (and I don't) I think I'd rather live with poker parties and barking dogs rather than crackheads; but hey-ho, some you win and some you loose. At least Phil managed to chill out after the race. Me, I should stop moaning and count my blessings because things could be a whole lot worse.
No comments:
Post a Comment