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A Moving Experience

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Ooh What a weekend and what a morning…

We’re finally in the house. There has been much unpacking and sorting and furnishing and so on. It’s full of episodes like the ‘spare bedroom episode’ where I was desperately trying to clear the remaining boxes and bags of crap from the middle of the floor, but for every box I managed to sort, Mrs M dumped another one in there because she couldn’t find anywhere else to put it. At the end of a two hour shifting session, the floor was slightly more cluttered than when I began. And for some reason every time she found a battery somewhere, she gave it to me and said ‘batteries are your domain’, whereupon I would discretely drop the battery back in one of the boxes she was working on only to have it handed back to me 30 minutes later.

Then there’s the wardrobes. We got two nice sturdy old wooden wardrobes very cheap from a guy who was clearing his house out. They’re lovely. No surprise that Mrs M wanted the bigger one and I didn’t argue. She does, after all, have more clothes. Than anyone. Still, the smaller one would do me… apart from the fact that it’s not very deep. In fact it’s narrower than the length of a coathanger which means that if I actually hang anything in it the doors won’t close. Mrs M’s solution is wacky, but the best so far. She’s put a plank of wood and a couple of wedges under the front so that it leans back as though it’s just enjoyed a good meal. Now the doors stay shut if you push them hard.

Then there’s the internet. In Ripon we had broadband through Orange, with whom I also have my mobile phone. When we were busy moving on thursday afternoon, Orange rang me to try and tell me something and I told them I was moving and didn’t have time to talk right then due to having a cardboard box under one arm that weighed the same as the Exxon Valdez. Yesterday I rang orange to tell them I’d moved and wanted the broadband on our new phone line. They told me they couldn’t process a new order for me yet as the last one hadn’t finished being processed yet. Cheerily I enquired ‘what order is that?’ That, apparently was my request for very high speed broadband for an extra £5 per month. Sweetly once more I enquired ‘what the hell is that? I didn’t ask for that!’ The *helpful* man told me that I’d requested it on thursday. I replied with increasing joviality ‘I damn well didn’t. Why the hell would I request and increase in service for more money per month on a phone line I was only going to own for another five hours?’ The operator agreed that it seemed stranged and, now that he looked carefully, though it said I’d requested it, no ‘customer service advisor’ had actually put their name to it. So someone at Orange very helpfully signed me up to something I didn’t want that was more expensive on a line I wasn’t going to have and has therefore delayed me getting broadband moved to my new line. And because the order’s already going through, I can’t stop it! I now have to wait until Tuesday and ring them to ask for broadband to be put on my new line, wait for up to 15 days for that to happen, and then ring them again and cancel the order that I didn’t want in the first place. If I get charged for it, they will let me claim it back. How nice of them. I’m now very tempted to change altogether. I don’t trust a company that’s going to order things on my account for me and not tell me they’re going to do it.

Then there’s the key. We have only one front door key. We have 3 back door keys, but only one front. These locks date from the Victorian period I reckon and are about a third of the size of the door. The keys are mortice-lock keys around six inches long made of solid iron and bulky. They look like something medieval. And somehow we’ve lost it! It looks suspiciously like I’ve lost it actually, though I’m not sure how. Though I did go out briefly on saturday night and take it with me, I know I brought it back or the door would be locked. The door is unlocked, so I must have had the key when I came back to the house. And now I don’t. And the door is unlocked. Which worries me. We need to either find the key or get new locks fitted asap. Today I’m going to buy 2 bolts to fit just in case.

I have spent days now with ever increasing finger nails. I believe I mentioned my growing similarity to Fu Manchu last entry, and have been bemoaning the lack of clippers somewhere among the packing constantly for days. And last night, Mrs M finally found a pair. Gratefully I received them and turned myself back into a semblance of the normal manicure. During the process I had to listen to Mrs M clearing out that particular box and continually saying ‘another pair of clippers’. She found seven! Is it any wonder I couldn’t find one?

Then there’s the European Cardboard Mountain. Outside our back door are all the boxes we’ve emptied. We were considering whether to take them to the tip or burn them until we had the torrential downpour yesterday. Now they’re not so much cardboard as tapioca. There’s a few boxes still roughly classed as a solid, lying on top of a heap of gungy, brown, semi-liquid ex-box! What we’re supposed to do with them now I don’t know, but if the weather dries out, I’m considering sculpting them into some rude statue and then glazing it and standing it in the back garden.

Then there’s the draught. I know it’s an old house, but with the horrendous gales we had over the weekend, all you can hear is the wind. It’s like a pack of screaming howling banshees hiding in the cupboards of the house. And there appears to be enough of a gap under the front door to allow a howling gale in, along with a small puddle of rainwater, so we’ve got to look at the bottom of the front door tonight. And of course, the sash windows let in a bit of a draught, though I reckon I can stop that with a little felt or something. All in all, it’s getting there, but there are still enough little things for us to do before it’s complete. Like figure out the central heating. It’s insane. There’s a control panel that looks like one of those panels full of lights and switches you get overhead in the cockpit of a Boeing 767. I took one look at it and decided I needed to hire someone to figure it out for me. Like maybe a Nobel Prize for Physics winner or something.

I tend to be focusing on the hiccups though. After all, they’re generally funnier than things going right. The one thing that’s happening today, though is a friend of my parents’ is in laying some carpet for us. I know the guy quite well and he’s real nice, which is why I don’t worry about him having the run of the house while we’re both at work. Mind you, with no front door key, Bin Laden could drop in and eat our food and watch our tv while we were out if he wanted! Still, because D.E. is a good friend, he offered to do the horrible stairs and landing carpeting for us for a remarkable £15 (bearing in mind that we already had the carpet.) Even at friendly rates I was expecting closer to £50. So we left £20 for him instead and he’s this morning informed us that for £20 he’ll do the hallway for us too! That’s it then. All the carpeting will be done! For £20!!!! I’m so happy I may pee a little. At last I’ll be able to go up and down stairs without treading on the spiky gripper rods ten times a day. My feet musy be full of tiny holes. I expect if I drink enough water and stamp around, water will leak out of my feet.

Hmmm. What’s next? Well I think a brief mention of this morning is in order too. Welshman picked me up to give me a lift to work from the village, but there had been a bad accident on the A1 and consequently we had to go the whole distance on the small village roads. We were therefore later than usual and the moment I got in, had to go help him shift a desk so that we could get into the loft and retrieve the Christmas decorations. We heaved a desk and PCs to one side, unfolded the ladder, climbed up, discovered that the bulb had gone and fumbled around in the dark looking for the tree. In the end, due to our spectacular lack of success, I went down to see Mr Goboilyourhead and ask if we had a spare bulb. ‘Why?’ asks he. ‘For the loft. We’re looking for the tree’ quoth I. ‘It’s in the photocopier room’ replied he. So… We moved a desk, dithered our way around a dark loft and got covered in dust looking for something someone else had already brought down. Needless to say, none of this was my idea. I only do it because the ratio of men to women in our office has reached critical proportions and if anything manual needs to be done, I am immediately found. I was just moving the desk back when New Girl asked me to look at her monitor as it wasn’t switching on. I did so and could find no spark of life. Wondering if it was a loose connection, I waggled the power lead in the back and was greeted with a smell like frying plastic. Yay! We have no spare monitor so I have lost my second one at my desk. In return I have a monitor sat behind me that smells like burnt circuit boards. And I’m slowly getting high. And probably poisoned.

Lots to tell I’m sure, but for now that’s enough.


Nanoo nanoo…

Moosehunter out.


Written by SJAT

January 7, 2010 at 3:34 pm

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