Note: There will be more than the usual amount of swearing in this post. If you are an innocent little child, then look away, get off the net, get a haircut, and get yourself a job. If you're easily offended... then what the hell are you doing here??
We've moved house. Same street, nice and easy, right next to the station (instead of 10 minutes away, at the end of our incredibly long cul-de-sac), but a nice 2 bed house instead of a tiny 1 bed flat. More importantly, we'll be leaving behind our absolutely fucking horrendous scumbag neighbours. No more dog barking non stop from 8am every day. No more screeching from her while performing her embarrassingly fake orgasms. No more of their stupid, bellowing laughter at 1am, just when you're about to fall asleep. No more of them getting back late and partying with their retard friends until 5am. No more banging and crashing all the doors as they arrive home, when everybody else is capable of entering the building without it sounding like the world's ending. No more combined stench of dog and cigarettes forcing its way into our flat when our and their windows are open at the same time (making for an extremely unpleasant summer). No more loud, obnoxious twats stomping around every night so loudly it sounds like they're actually in the flat with us.
It all happened so fast, there was hardly any time to pack. Saw the place online on the 20th November, viewed it that day, decided that night. Phoned them the next day, said we wanted it, and moved in yesterday, 17th December. Yeah, the week before Christmas, which is obviously the best time to move, what with it being so quiet... But we've both been so unbelievably busy lately, we didn't really have time to start packing properly until last Friday. Yes, 3 days before. But not to worry, I said at the time to Jo, packing's easy. We've got all the boxes we need, all we have to do is put stuff into them. You'll be surprised how quick and easy it is. *Un*packing is the hard part. Those words, you will be completely unsurprised to hear, soon came back to haunt me. Oh, they haunted the shit out of me.
We had some small boxes packed, then got some stuff done Friday, but then we were both out all day Saturday, till quite late. So we only really got stuck in on Sunday at 1pm. Thankfully we'd ordered some proper, strong removal boxes from www.packnmove.co.uk - if we hadn't had those, it would have been even worse. Check out the size of the bubble wrap, with a copy of 300 on top to compare sizes:
THIS! IS! BUBBLE WRAAAAAAAAP!
We packed all day Sunday, and when we got to midnight, realised that we were going to have to just keep going, all night. We got some coffee going, had a biscuit or twelve, and got back into it.
1am. We're having lots of fun, packing away, and making lots of noise to keep the scumbag neighbours awake. The packing tape is great for that, because it's one of those ones that screeches like a dying harpie when you pull off a big length. Screeeeech! Take that, annoying neighbours! Oh, what fun we're having! We'll be finished in no time at all! No time at all! No time at all!
(insert wibbly wobbly timey wimey dissolve effect here)
5am. It is no longer fun. We both have that awful feeling where it's like someone has rubbed sand, acid, and ground-up dead babies into your eyes. Jo gets about 45 minutes sleep while I carry on for a bit, then when she wakes up, I get my 45 minutes while she packs.
7am. Realise I've had the song "I'll be seeing you" stuck in my head, for some reason, for about an hour. The Liberace version. Try to get rid of it, then stop, realising that it's probably the only thing keeping me going, keeping my brain working. I'll... be seeing youuuu... in all the old familiar places..." Couldn't find the Liberace version online, so the above link is as close as I can get. Consider it an early Christmas present.
9am. At midnight, when we decided to stay up all night, I felt good because it meant we had loads of time. Now, I realise that we still don't have enough time for everything. So. Much. Stuff.
10am. The black, black despair sets in. Will this ever end? Will we ever escape? We haven't put the kitchen knives away yet, should we just kill ourselves with them, and take the pain away? The only thing that saves us is being physically unable to perform any action that isn't putting stuff into boxes.
1pm. We've been packing for 24 hours straight, with occasional breaks for food and coffee. And it's still. Not. Finished.
4pm. The removal van turns up. 27 hours in, and we're almost finished. They start loading the stuff, Jo goes to the new place to let them in. I stay to supervise, and try to finish packing the kitchen stuff, because WE'VE ONLY JUST GOT TO IT. 27 HOURS LATER. JESUS CHRISTING CHRIST AL-CHRISTING-MIGHTY.
The removal blokes look at the Pile of Insanity:
It's bigger than it seems, spilling off the sides of the pic, and going right to the back of the room. Somewhere in there, the Ark of the Covenant is lost, forever. One of the removal men shrugs, and says something like "okay, so no sofa or fridge, it's mainly the bed, shelves, then a few boxes." I laugh the laugh of the damned. It takes them over two hours to get everything in the van, while I frantically stuff kitchen things into boxes, bags, pockets, anything. In the end, I have to leave most of the food, and some kitchen implements. We'll come back in a day or so. I don't care anymore. Let the pigeons eat it.
Another hour later, the men are gone, and everything is piled into our lovely new house. We stare at it. Dazed. Feeling myself finally losing the last shred of sanity, I think "well, now it's time to unpack..." But we don't. We unpack the bare minimum of stuff so that we can sleep on something soft. Before that, we need food. Order a Chinese takeaway, and get the Diet Coke out - but which box has the glasses? Can't find them. All we can find are the silly champagne glasses. So that's what we have:
That was Monday. Tuesday, the Sky man arrived to connect us to the wonderful world of Television, and BT's assurance that "yeah, we just switch off the broadband at your old place, and switch it on at the new one" turned out to be a pack of evil lies. We either have a line fault, or an account fault, or a stupid fucking telecommunications company fault. They fixed it this afternoon, after I threatened to destroy them all with my mind-force. Side note: delivery men, installation men, or repairmen always take one sugar with their tea or coffee, and always have milk ("white and one, cheers"). I do not know why.
Once everything's sorted, then I'll finally be able to have a desk and chair in the spare room. Which means I can write without doing my back in. Jo can have her piano and music stuff in the same place. And our new, L-shaped sofa arrives on Friday. So if blogging is even more sporadic than usual, or I fail to reply to an email or just go "buhhhhh, duhhhhh" when I answer the phone, that's why. Normal service will resume shortly. Thank you. And good night.