Thursday 24 July 2008

Depressed, Deflated and Delusional


Today I stuck another pin in the already rapidly deflating balloon of the estate agency "profession" and I almost felt sorry for them. As "liquid renters" Brian and I are currently the Holy Grail of the property experts who are, despite all indications to the contrary, still labouring under the illusion that we are desperate to buy and quit our very comfortable rented house. Not so.. and I am finding it difficult to keep patience with the falsely cheery chappies (and chapesses) who ring me up to see what they can do for me (frankly nothing I couldn't do a hell of a lot better myself) when really they are crossing their fingers, and toes, that I will be doing something for them ie. buy one of their uninspiring and still, incredibly, overpriced properties. Despite the recent closure of no less than 5 estate agents' office in the centre of Middletown, it seem that message is still not getting through that Estate Agency is now as sad, flat and out of time as a dropped pancake on Ash Wednesday. Let the lean times roll.

Monday 21 July 2008

Control Geek

It has recently come to Sir William's attention that Brian has, apparently unwittingly, introduced an unwelcome innovation to The Little House on the Patio. Some weeks ago, while I was in Crete and therefore unable to protest, Brian decided that the Little House should be furnished with a removable door which could be installed at night to prevent the pollution of the above by any marauding nocturnal wild beasts - or insanely jealous neighbourhood moggy. So far so anal (I had found pushing the front of the house up against the fence a perfectly adequate protective measure) however, said door was duly engineered and carefully put in position each night to be removed the following morning. On weekend mornings, however, removal can sometimes be a little delayed as happened just yesterday while Brian, William and I were enjoying the precious and increasingly infrequent sun on The Bench (see Darling Buds, themerchantstale.com). The temperature in the (now) unventilated Little House mounted unnoticed until there was a muffled implosion followed the a nerve-jangling clatter as the little door of the Little House was catapulted onto the patio. After he'd regained his composure - and his perch - William dealt Brian "The Look" which, on this occasion, plainly said (here please imagine the dulcet tones of Charlie Croker aka Michael Caine) "You've only gone and blown the bloody door off!!". William and I retreated to the kitchen to partake of our respective medications (Happy Pills for me, steroids for him) leaving Brian to ponder this unfortunate flaw in his control system. I suppose he'd be drilling ventilation holes next, but for the fear of infiltration by a passing earwig.

Wednesday 16 July 2008

Turning the Corner



What a difference a day makes... Just 12 hours after my last post we received notification that Daughter Number 3 had not only passed her degree but been awarded First Class Honours. Jubilation all round, not just for her excellent result (and we are very proud of all our daughters' achievements) but because it brought to a very satisfactory close the decade during which all our offspring progressed through Higher Education, one of them twice. So we are now the parents of no less than 3 "Young Professionals" either in or about to be in permanent paid employment commensurate with their qualifications. Phew. That very night I dragged Brian out for a celebratory meal complete with champagne.* The girls deserve their success but so do we for all the many types of support freely given over the years. We know it's just a bend, and not the end, of the parental road but it is great to have got them all safely on to the freeway at last.

Better news for Sir William fans too. After 2 nights' hospitalization we brought him home demanding to go private next time as there was far too much scrutiny of his personal bodily functions. We are no further forward in finding out what has caused his most unpleasant indisposition - best guess some unknown virus. A combination of antibiotics and steroids have brought about a noticeable improvement: his botty is definitely looking better which is a great relief all round as neither of us fancied being on either end of the cream and rubber glove with which I had been optimistically issued. We are not impressed with the prohibitively expensive prescribed diet which looks - and smells- like small dark brown cardboard circles and makes him so thirsty he has to wake me up 3 times a night to drink from the glass on my bedside table. I've definitely got the best deal though, as there were two small dark brown circles on Brian's side of the duvet this morning and I'm pretty sure they weren't edible.

* Despite my dereliction of WW and celebratory nosh, loss to date 18lbs.

Thursday 10 July 2008

Craptrap

OK, I know, I've been a poor correspondent of late but I've been away again, in Brighton helping to facilitate Daughter Number 3's move from Hanover student house to young professional's single flat in Kemptown. And very nice it is too, small but perfectly formed with excellent and uplifting sea views from the front windows. In fact, if you ignore the cars, estate agents boards, scaffolding and a gas pipe repair, it is not impossible to imagine that the view down this charming Regency backwater has not changed so very much in the last 200 years and I'm seriously thinking of co-opting it as my South Coast pied a terre whenever the tenant is out of town. The move went surprisingly well thanks to a very efficient man with a van and also to Brian who dismantled and reassembled like a Good 'Un. He departed early for Middletown, truck laden with student cast offs (a very nice cream metal bed frame,[for the grandchild we don't yet have]a wicker coffee table[for the conservatory we have yet to acquire] and a wooden kitchen chair which we bought in the first place. I stayed on and scrubbed and polished, washed and ironed, shopped and cooked, at the end of which Daughter Number 3 regarded me thoughtfully and announced, "Don't take this the wrong way, but Gillian (teaching mentor) told me that when her Mother died, she experienced a huge sense of liberation." After I'd finished laughing like a drain, I managed to riposte that she'd better hope someone comes up with a mobile network which reaches beyond the current terrestrial bounds or she'd be up the creek without Mum to find the paddle.

Back in Middletown, the news of Sir William is not good. His indisposition has gone on for almost 4 weeks now and he is not getting any better. Five visits to the vets, several injections, faeces and blood samples and £200+ later, we are no nearer finding out what's wrong. Always the most fastidious of all my very clean male cats (drawing a veil, or more often, a pile of kitchen towels over the less delightful habits of Ms Georgiana Paw) he has not been able to avoid the odd accident and is obviously mortified, spending most of his time either outside or under the spare room bed. Brian and I are united in our concern; the house has a melancholy air and there is a sad gap on the sofa of an evening. Yes, GF has finally returned to Canada and we are all bereft ( but especially me). Today it is pouring down from dawn till dusk. A property company I had engaged to manage a small rental property for me has gone out of business owing me money. After considerable persistence, I have finally coerced them into reimbursing me only to find that they have deducted a management fee for their inconvenience. Ye Gods!! If it wasn't for the unexpected but nonetheless gratifying discovery that, despite the indulgence of a toasted mozzarella and tomato ciabatta with wild rocket and peach chutney whilst slaving away in Brighton, I seem to have lost no less than 3lbs in one week, it would be, in most respects, a pretty s****y day.

So, Nicole Kidman has called her baby girl Sunday despite the irrefutable fact that she was born on a Monday and Gordon Brown wants to be compared to Heathcliff. Beam me up, Scotty, and lose the damn phone!!