Last (old) update of the day. I might actually bring myself to write some new stuff here at some point. But at least now it looks like I write here.
Got home Tuesday night after having a lovely afternoon out at Brown’s Hotel with work. We had tea which consists of tea (obviously, but many many different kinds are on offer) and tiny sandwiches with no crusts with fillings like cucumber and cream cheese, egg and cress, salmon, and cheese and tomato, and also wee little scones with jam and clotted cream and then other pastries and cakes AND Victoria sponge cake. Groan. I brought home a goody box but unfortunately after a tube ride from hell which saw Euston and King’s Cross closed due to overcrowding and being shoved up against the door for the duration I found everything in the box smushed together and covered in blueberry. Including the sandwiches. Sigh.
I then checked my messages to find one about our flat. It was an estate agent telling me the previous offer on the place has been withdrawn, so it is going back on the market. Brilliant. So the odds of us knowing whether we are staying or going anytime soon just went down. Not only that, she said ‘We’d like to arrange a viewing to value the property and would like to come round tomorrow. Please give me a call. If I don’t hear from you I will assume it is ok.’ Um NO. It is not ok. You cannot just waltz into our home without our say so! What if I haven’t received the message? Also, our contract says we are supposed to be given written notice and 24 hours before anyone can come in, and if it is not convenient another time can be arranged. I called back and had to leave a message, but who’s to say they won’t just stroll in anyway and then say ‘Oh, I thought it was ok?’
I am so tired of flat crap. Are we moving? Are we staying? I’m beginning to wonder if it wouldn’t be better for my mental health just to prepare to move anyway.
And also! I don’t think the landlord should be giving out our phone numbers to estate agents without at first calling us to let us know what’s going on. We should be the first to find out these things and it is just common courtesy to ask.
Also, one of smoke alarms has started to beep, meaning its battery is running out. I would happily change it if I could reach the damn thing. Our flat has seriously high ceilings and also spotlights, many of which have gone and need replacing, but I can’t reach. So now I need to buy a ladder, which I think the landlord should provide but by the time he gets back to me about it we’ll have moved out anyway. For some reason Tesco Direct doesn’t deliver ladders in their premium service (ie, you pick a time and date), they only do next day, which I can’t be home for. Guess what I’ll be doing this weekend? Ladder shopping. Fun.
Side bar: When the hell did I get to the age that I have to worry about ladders?
We live across from a small piece of land, labeled a ‘common’ that I have only ever used once, back in May when it was so hot even I couldn’t stay inside and had to go sit out on a bench. It’s used mainly by annoying lads who play football at 3 am and shout ‘goal’ really loud. It’s also the home/play area of a family of foxes. Last night I was woken up (again at 3 am, must be magic hour around here) by their hideous screeching. Have you heard the noise foxes make? It’s somewhere between a baby screaming, nails on a chalkboard and the early stages of the X-Factor. I’m not even sure if it means they are in pain, or worried, or having fun or they just generally make that noise but it’s not the most pleasant thing to be woken up to. There were at least four of them last night, one coming into our garden but luckily the rubbish men had been that day. They were cute when they were small but now I’d quite like them to piss off thank you very much.