Living in the country is very nice:
I know this now I don't.
The grass elsewhere is always greener,
but move again I won't.
Ah, hindsight. Suh-weet hindsight.
The move went well - in as much as we moved. Hard work? I should bleedin' well coco! There aren't enough web-bots or admins to remove the expetives I'd like to write - or masseurs to ease my aching muscles. Obviously I'm not fit enough to live in a house with three floors, 'cause, duh, floors mean stairs. Of course, being avian, I've settled on the top floor. Pity I forgot I can't fly. Humph.
I really shouldn't moan ... but I will. We ordered broadband on the 6th of September. On the 28th of September we were told that our order had 'become a ghost.' On enquiring what exactly that meant, the chap said the order had gone into a void from which it couldn't be recovered - ever - and consequently it had to be cancelled and then re-ordered - though he wasn't quite so consise. Apparently, what with the de-regulation of telecoms in the UK, these things often happen. For some reason I imagined him sitting around a table sipping tea and nibbling cucumber sandwiches as he told me this, and added, contritely, "we're very sorry."
How sorry they are remains to be seen. I should be powering up my in-game lazers and killing monsters, now. Instead I'm not. QED.
Then I run out of petrol. I haven't run out of petrol in years. I almost pride myself (I definitely would if pride didn't come before a fall) on being sensible and not running out of petrol, which, to be fair, is always a royal pain in the arse. Long walk, then I had to buy a can (pay for the can first, then fill it up and pay for the petrol. Can't I pay for both at once? No.).
Then the next morning I get a parking ticket. This was midweek. The Saturday before, and three days after we moved in, we saw town life as Dickens must have known it.
Just before midnight there was a HUGE row on the steps of the house opposite as the residents arrived back, drunk. Six of them sit on the stairs watching as one girl goes nuclear on her boyfriend - apparently he'd slept with some other girl and she had the photos on her phone to prove it. And they're screaming, and effing, and blinding, back and forth across the road. And she's crying and hugging him one moment, and shouting and trying to knee him in the balls the next. A bloke comes out to ask them to be quiet and she storms across and tells him to '*&^&*@' OFF! Sensibly, he does, but meanwhile her boyfriend tries to get away on his moped and gets caught. The inevitable end result is that the police arrive. All of a sudden it's utterly quiet, and the curtain twitching audience retires back to watch the midnight movie.
Until yesterday, when I bought a data dongle to give me a little net time, I've been sidling around to friends houses where they'd roll their eyes and point me to their computer. They say the net's addictive and believe me it is. I've been pining, and not for the fjords. I started by tethering my netbook to my phone, but the phone company wasn't impressed and got quite upset about it.
Sorry for rambling on, and many thanks to all of you who left me a poem in response to my last post: good they were, indeed!