It's official; we move out of the city in three and a half weeks time.
I can't wait. We pick up the keys to our new home on Saturday and between now and then we have a lot of packing to do. No time for anything else, except a bit of blogging.
I have to keep up the blogging; it's one of the things that keep me sane. My life is running at such a frantic pace at the moment that it's very useful to have somewhere to pool all my thoughts.
Lately I've been thinking hard about all the things I'll miss about this place so that I can make the most of them while I'm still here:
There are a few shops that I won't find in my new locale so I've already made all the purchases I can from them, within reason. There's only so much one can spend on spatulas and tea-lights before it starts to look truly weird.
I am also making use of the broadband and phone deal we have here. We'll still be connected to the Internet in the new place, but my usage will be pared down by the narrowing of our bandwidth. Can't have my cyber-fannying impeding my husband's work. So I'm surfing like a mad thing and enjoying long phone conversations while I can. I don't know if the poor sods I'm calling are enjoying it as much, but what are you gonna do?
I will miss a few TV channels too, as we'll be back to basics in the new gaff. I will easily make up for it though. Harriet can replace the comedy and entertainment channels and the view out of the window will be our discovery channel. We'll hire films on DVD, and I can take or leave sports, especially if the Ashes don't swing back our way next week.
Apart from all that I'll be making the most of living above a bunch of arseholes (NOT). I have been getting myself off to sleep each night by dreaming up plans of vengeance to exact upon my noisy neighbours. I am a resourceful and inventive sort so my plans are cunning and quite, quite evil.
I shall be carrying out none of them though. It is enough for me to dream of revenge, as that way my stress levels fall but nobody gets hurt. Also, if these acts remain in my head I have complete control over how well they work out. I can fantasise a whole day's worth of setting up an evil plan, then visualise its execution, followed by my noisy neighbours humbled and profusely apologetic response. In the real world nobody would be humbled or apologise after having a plague of seagulls caw and claw at their bread-paste covered walls, for example.
It would never work as well as it does in my mind so I'll dodge any disappointment and failure, along with dodging the effort involved in such a ridiculous scheme, and just dream.
Before I shoot off and get on with important stuff, I'll just fill you in on Harriet's progress:
She crawled for the first time at the weekend. She was very tired at the time so she only managed one pace before giving up. It was definitely a crawl though. She has since forgotten how to do it, but we'll keep at it.
She has learnt how to scream this week too, but I bet she doesn't forget how to do that. It's because her teething is beginning to cause her real grief. She has tooth number three breaking through and at least another two on the verge. I can only imagine what it's like for her, the poor thing.
What else? She drew first blood yesterday biting her own lip.
Second blood was when she scraped her fingernail down her dad's right nostril after a lucky shot saw her index finger slip right up it.
She sucked a grape today and appeared to enjoy her first taste of fresh fruit.
She gets more vocal with every day; Dad seems to be her favourite word. So unfair.
I am worried though because if she is taking her lead from her dad and me and aping us when she speaks; we need speech therapy, or just plain therapy.
Keep it real, folks. Unless it's violent revenge, in which case keep it imaginary.
Bye and thanks for looking in.
I can't wait. We pick up the keys to our new home on Saturday and between now and then we have a lot of packing to do. No time for anything else, except a bit of blogging.
I have to keep up the blogging; it's one of the things that keep me sane. My life is running at such a frantic pace at the moment that it's very useful to have somewhere to pool all my thoughts.
Lately I've been thinking hard about all the things I'll miss about this place so that I can make the most of them while I'm still here:
There are a few shops that I won't find in my new locale so I've already made all the purchases I can from them, within reason. There's only so much one can spend on spatulas and tea-lights before it starts to look truly weird.
I am also making use of the broadband and phone deal we have here. We'll still be connected to the Internet in the new place, but my usage will be pared down by the narrowing of our bandwidth. Can't have my cyber-fannying impeding my husband's work. So I'm surfing like a mad thing and enjoying long phone conversations while I can. I don't know if the poor sods I'm calling are enjoying it as much, but what are you gonna do?
I will miss a few TV channels too, as we'll be back to basics in the new gaff. I will easily make up for it though. Harriet can replace the comedy and entertainment channels and the view out of the window will be our discovery channel. We'll hire films on DVD, and I can take or leave sports, especially if the Ashes don't swing back our way next week.
Apart from all that I'll be making the most of living above a bunch of arseholes (NOT). I have been getting myself off to sleep each night by dreaming up plans of vengeance to exact upon my noisy neighbours. I am a resourceful and inventive sort so my plans are cunning and quite, quite evil.
I shall be carrying out none of them though. It is enough for me to dream of revenge, as that way my stress levels fall but nobody gets hurt. Also, if these acts remain in my head I have complete control over how well they work out. I can fantasise a whole day's worth of setting up an evil plan, then visualise its execution, followed by my noisy neighbours humbled and profusely apologetic response. In the real world nobody would be humbled or apologise after having a plague of seagulls caw and claw at their bread-paste covered walls, for example.
It would never work as well as it does in my mind so I'll dodge any disappointment and failure, along with dodging the effort involved in such a ridiculous scheme, and just dream.
Before I shoot off and get on with important stuff, I'll just fill you in on Harriet's progress:
She crawled for the first time at the weekend. She was very tired at the time so she only managed one pace before giving up. It was definitely a crawl though. She has since forgotten how to do it, but we'll keep at it.
She has learnt how to scream this week too, but I bet she doesn't forget how to do that. It's because her teething is beginning to cause her real grief. She has tooth number three breaking through and at least another two on the verge. I can only imagine what it's like for her, the poor thing.
What else? She drew first blood yesterday biting her own lip.
Second blood was when she scraped her fingernail down her dad's right nostril after a lucky shot saw her index finger slip right up it.
She sucked a grape today and appeared to enjoy her first taste of fresh fruit.
She gets more vocal with every day; Dad seems to be her favourite word. So unfair.
I am worried though because if she is taking her lead from her dad and me and aping us when she speaks; we need speech therapy, or just plain therapy.
Keep it real, folks. Unless it's violent revenge, in which case keep it imaginary.
Bye and thanks for looking in.
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