Because I had problems getting home last night, Vanna kindly stepped in and ranted about how much she hates city life. I had actually written a blog too, not realizing that I’d then be stuck in traffic for over an hour due to a car accident on the bridge out of Newcastle and be unable to publish it. But despite the fact I have indeed moved house at this point, I’m going to post what I wrote yesterday afternoon regardless, because, well, I’m still in the process of unpacking and I should probably deal with that first (after I’ve done this obviously; this is important!).
So to conclude, I’ll write about how the move has gone tomorrow and today you can just pretend that it is still Thursday evening and read about my last-minute preparations for Friday’s (today) house move. Very straight forward. You all understand? Super.
The final night in the bungalow. One last chance for the huge spiders that occupy my room to attack and then it is all over. No more Tanfield Lea, no more 43 Bus service and at least for a month, no more online gaming. It’s going to be tough.
No doubt you’ll be thinking to yourselves that at least I can relax for these last few hours before the frenzy that accompanies a house move begins, as everything must have been secured and packed away by now, allowing me to rest up before it kicks off. Especially when you consider that we’ll be starting early, so it would be wise to have my possessions in order for the removal men, who will be arriving at 8:00 am (yeah, my day off and I get a fantastic lie on totaling up to a whopping…one hour) with their big empty lorry ready to load all of our stuff.
After all, what kind of fool would still be filling boxes late on Thursday night?
Yes, you guessed it. This guy.
In my defence, I was out last evening so I was quite tired when I came home. And the stuff that is left out can easily be thrown into a box without thought, as most of it is esssentially stuff that I don’t really care about yet I’m too reluctant to chuck them out at the moment. Add in my fan, lap tray, cables (phone, toothbrush, etc) and it’s done.
Oh wait, I need to seal up the Xbox game box (delaying that until the last minute) too. And put all my remaining clothes into a suitcase.
And I also need to sort out my Xbox, television (bolted to the wall!), new laptop, back up laptop, plus all the related hardware.
Then I’m done. Probably.
I will try to take some pictures of the old house/new house (already done; will be uploaded this weekend) but they’ll be on my phone so don’t expect anything magical when it comes to quality. It has been a while though since we had some photos on the blog (Vanna doesn’t count; sorry Vanna). Even longer when you consider the last few albums I’ve uploaded have been from Christmas 2011. You’d have to go much farther back to find something new…like early November. How have we coped? So yeah, that’ll be a nice change.
Speaking of coping, Vanna hasn’t been too impressed with the fat that I’m getting her Christmas presents.
First I got ‘What are you getting me? (remember me saying not to ask?) I don’t like surprises, so tell me what I’m getting so I know how to respond.
Then it was ‘Don’t spend money on me. I can’t afford to get you anything!’
And finally ‘What do you mean, “Vanna will want more?” People will think I’m demanding and materialistic and I’m not!’
My response was 1) I’m not telling you, 2) I don’t want anything my love and 3) well you are demanding so you can’t complain about that and granted, you aren’t materialistic but you will want a ring and you can’t getting one, at least not at Christmas.
I think that worked.
Bah. I need to stop talking now. All of this is just a distraction. It is me delaying the inevitable. I’m looking at the empty box in front of me and it’s just reminding me of what I need to do. It’s staring back (not literally of course) at me, judging me with its non existent eyes, telling me it is time. Time to pack things.
I guess I’ll start with my electronics. Poor Xbox…it’s been on that shelf for years and now suddenly it needs to be uprooted and shoved into a box? Absolutely shocking. Appalling even. Why is it always the innocent who suffer? Answer me that, eh?
Right. I’ll speak to you all later (pretend this isn’t later) when I’m settled in the new place. Cheerio!