The Final Move

Right, I have decided that the only way to write this is to not think about it and just let it pour out. I will be breaking it up into a couple of separate posts.

Things are very different, very odd. I haven’t made my mind up about anything at the moment. I can just tell you how I see it right now, and maybe that will change over the coming days/weeks.

The move was, predictably, horrendous even though a lot of it had been done over the weekend. I spent Tuesday night over at Beardy’s and the Wednesday morning at Old Work Place, bidding final farewells to former colleagues. I had pencilled half an hour into my day to do this, expecting to just pop my head around various office doors, but in the end I was there for getting on for two hours. I was quite touched by the time people wanted to spend talking to me and wishing good luck, but the cynical side says that they just wanted to avoid working! I was saddened that George was on holiday. He was the one person I really wanted to see more than any others. I will get over it.

The rest of the day was spent getting increasingly more frustrated and upset with every passing moment. I am amazed at how much crap I really have, and towards the end I was just throwing things out because I was sick of packing it up and getting it into the car. Then I had to clean the entire place really thoroughly in a bid to get back as much deposit as possible although I was pretty alarmed to discover some damage in The Sister’s bathroom that, had she mentioned earlier, could have been reported and fixed but now looks like we will be charged for. Well, I am buggered if I am paying.

Plus, despite asking her the day I gave notice to cancel the phone, she didn’t do it. She had over a month. I called up and explained that I wasn’t the account holder but the line had to be cut. It took all of five minutes and left me feeling even more irate that the lazy little madam hadn’t done it. Still, it will cost her the extra week’s line rental because, again, I am buggered if I am paying.

Anyway, running a couple of hours late, and with a spangly clean and virtually empty, flat, I mopped my way out of the front door for the last time, headed to the lettings agent to hand back keys, and then headed back to the underground car park at the flat where I had left my car.

I then spent a good ten minutes just crying with Beardy. Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint you all by being mature and dignified about this. Obviously you know there is more to it than missing the morning train journey but we won’t be delving into that mush on an open post and I am not sure I will be able to do it on a private post either as tears and open plan offices are never a particularly winning combination (although I appreciate that there is quite an entertainment factor involved for work colleagues witnessing such a debacle).

Finally I got into the car and embarked on what is easily the worst car journey I have taken in a while. Firstly, well, crying and driving is not advisable. Especially driving at speed. Secondly, I was nearly two hours late leaving Little City and rolling out at 4.40pm hinted at trouble to come at W, through F, through G, before the joys of outer London. (Although the journey was a dream until past G – the speed limit is 50 on this stretch of road and I was cruising just over that so pretty pleased with the pace considering the time and expected local rush hour traffic). Thirdly, and following on from the bracketed text, there had been some crazy accident at Wimbledon which had led to the A3 being shut from Shannon Corner. But the geniuses involved in road information hadn’t seen fit to put this on any of the information panels that hang over the road until the M25. A while before this I headed over the brow of a hill by the BP garage (on the bloody fast stretch as well) to be met with quite an impressive tailback. It was a case of “crikey, this is proper stopping, not just braking, better put the old hazards on to warn the speeding BMW behind to brake effectively and not end up in my boot (not that there was room with all the junk in there).” Fourthly, some numpty further up had driven into the car in front which meant that a lane had to be closed and emergency crews let through three lanes of queuing cars. Thank God for hard shoulders.

While stationary I took the time to call the electricity and water boards and give my final meter readings (never one to waste time), and call Dad for a good moan. We agreed that it would be best if I came off at the M25 (never thought I would ever say that) and follow-my-nose through Leatherhead and up through Epsom to his. Which I did. I was pleased that I had paid attention to my parents’ driving short cuts when I was ferried around before the days of driving, and impressed with my knowledge of Surrey because I quickly recognised areas and was home in no time, considering the entire area was all snarled up with others trying to do much the same.

Dad took over the driving from Cesspit to Little Place Without A Name because I was ratty and tired and he was excited to have the VTS back and itching to get into it. Suited me because I was about to smash up the cars of just about every other driver on the road by that point as well. It is quite alarming how driving brings out a demon in me. I find that I hate (really hate) a high proportion of strangers just because they can’t drive properly. Especially old men in flat caps. And Nissan Micras (sorry Coatman – where are you by the way?!?!?!!)

We finally arrived at Little Place Without A Name, and unloaded. With my two new housemates helping it took no time, although my room is still a bloody mess. Dad headed off to rev his engine to his heart’s content and the three of us settled in for an evening of BB with wine. Then, shattered I had a bubble bath in my super duper new bath and got into bed. Firstly, the mattress is just lush lush lush. Better even than the one at Beardy’s house which I openly admit is heaven in the form of a mattress. Secondly, I made the error of calling Beardy as I had promised I would. Cue 15 minutes of blubbing before falling asleep feeling empty, lost and totally weird.

And today? Well, that’s another post. Later, later. (But at least the flow appears to be back )