I’d like a Sainthood actually.

I’m so very tired today.  All this moving malarkey is no fun.

Quick update of the move to le château de grenouille:

Monday

• Woke up at Unnatural O’clock in the morning surrounded by boxes and feeling decidedly ill.
• Had a soak in the bath.
• Packed like a slightly wobbly dervish…OK The Hildy packed while I performed manly moving boxes downstairs in silence.
• At 7am I woke the tadpoles and fed them breakfast of croissants and tap water.
• Ate a croissant really quickly.
• Got hiccups.
• More moving stuff around.
• At 8:30am I sent the kids off to school and explained once again that I would collect them so they should NOT come back to the house.  Arranged to meet Snarly in the library.  Different school, different rules.
• At 9am I went to the bottle bank.  I wouldn’t want anyone thinking that I’m an alcoholic or anything.
• At 9:15 I return and briefly wonder why I hadn’t put the bins in the road to leave a space for the removal van.
• At 9:30 the removal van arrives.  We spend the next hour and a half loading the van.
• 10:48am I receive a text from the broker that we have completed and can now arrange to collect the keys.  I eagerly await a call from the estate agent.
• We spend a while hoovering, mopping, cleaning and generally making the place spic and span for the new people.  I even empty the bins into neighbours bins (they said I could) so as to leave the place perfect. 
• The removal chaps disappear off to lunch.
• By 1pm I’m starting to get annoyed.  I’ve gone shopping for lunch and we’re left sitting on the stairs trying to keep a very stressed cat happy.  The estate agent is claiming not to have a phone number for the former owners of le château de grenouille and haven’t got the keys.
• Six phone calls to the estate agent later I decide to go to le château de grenouille myself and see if they are still there.
• They are.
• They are sitting in the front garden smoking, drinking and laughing.  In.  My.  Property.  Apparently they are waiting for a phone call from their solicitor and can’t move till they get it.
• I decide that politeness will get me further than incoherent rage and help them to load their tiny tiny van with as much stuff as I can.
• 3:30pm I collect the kids and rush to the shops for some essentials.  Little Al drops a bag of shopping and floods a shop doorway in beer.  I tell him it’s OK and grit my teeth. 
• 4pm arrives.  At this point I have not told the estate agent that I have the keys, the temporary squatters only have one more van to fill up and my two vans full of stuff are on their way to le château de grenouille to unload.  My hiccups are still tormenting me and I’m gasping for a cup of tea.
• 4:45 the solicitor calls and tells me that I can move in.
• 6pm, we finish unloading the vans.
• Apparently it is socially acceptable to stand at the gate of a house and stare in through the doors and windows when people move in.  Comments are also welcome, particularly when they are intelligent and well presented.  For example: “Are you moving in then?” or “Is this all your stuff?”
• 7pm I order Chinese. 
• We put up one bed and give up.  Kids on mattresses again.
• I have managed not to swear all day.

 Tuesday

I’m working in East Sussex so I’m up early.  Everything aches and I’ve developed a cough.  The whole day isn’t even worth bullet points.  Except the last bit.  Everyone seems to have forgotten how to do their job so I spread my germs and explain all over again what it is that they are supposed to do.  I also have a surprise job interview for someone. 

When I get home I find out that the upstairs loo is broken and the electrics are a bit dodgy.

The estate agent still doesn’t know that I have moved in. 

I receive the solicitor’s bill.  This is the most efficient that they have been.

The Hildy has cheered up the house by purchasing four beautiful girl rats.  They escaped and played “hide in the boxes” and “let’s see if the cat is a stupid as she looks”.  We have nearly decided on Smudge and Templeton for two of their names but I need more.  Previous rat names have been Spike, Oz, Peter, Jack and Harry.  The ringleader of the Great Cage Escape may end up being called Houdini.

Today

Today I am so tired that I think I may fall asleep at any moment.  My observations of the day are simply blurred as a result.  One thing comes to mind though.  Some people who get buses are a bit strange.  Don’t stare back at them.

I still can’t find my coat…or my dressing gown to cover my nudity during my morning ablutions.  Either would do.

Now I’m going home via a train and a bus or possibly for a long walk.  See you tomorrow.  hopefully I’ll get some rat snaps on my camera…if I can find some batteries.