(UK) Happy Mother’s Day

I meant to post this on Sunday. But such is life, that the topic of the previous post destroyed all hope of that happening.

Well, that and the fact my wife was busy on the computer all weekend too. (It wasn’t me! Hooray )

This post is specifically aimed at an audience of one. If you’re not my Mother, you may find it a bit mushy and I’ll not deny that. So if that’s not what you’re after, skip this one. However, if it so happens that you’re my Mother, then read on, and I hope you enjoy it.

working week

Woah.

What a busy weekend. Having had little to focus on for a while, spending five days away from home seemed quite energetic on the scale of work that I currently live by. In fact during these five days a whole host, a whole manner of activities and observations were taken / made. So in true list tradition let’s wander through the last five days of my life and see just how good or bad my biographical style can get:

Friday.

Friday was the lull day of the five, in that the things that took place were pretty typical of my current lifestyle. My wife and I were to vacate our abode, fully prepared for the upcoming weekend and also ready to remove some items from our home. At the moment we are currently downsizing our house, selling things that we (think) we no longer need or require. Coincidentally, if you are interested in purchasing said items, our seller link is here. With items listed, all other things that will not sell were loaded into our vehicle ready for transportation to either charity or waste disposal sites. However dispatch could not commence without our home being ship shape and Bristol fashion apparently, so various cleaning tasks were undertaken until the wife gave the all clear.

With the all clear given, we drove to the abode of my mother’s (a fine example of how to write English germanically). En route, we disposed of the unnecessary items in a handy charity recycle bin. So if you are looking for a complete sourcebook to Tolstoy’s War and Peace, check the Inventory of the British Heart Foundation. Because they definitely have one copy. What was mostly amusing about the deposit we made was the way we went about it. Putting things in recycle bins is quite a menial task. UNLESS… you shake it up and pretend you are doing something shifty. Already feeling a little suspect for dropping some tupperware in a charity bin that did not state that Tupperware was allowed, we continued in our criminal act in a variety of small deviations. We tied shoes together. Not with their laces, but with headphone wire. We dropped white glass in a brown glass bin (although that was more an accident than a premeditated crime). We put clothes into the charity bin without them being in bags despite the bin’s label clearing stating we should. Ooh, we felt dirty. We emptied the boot (US: trunk) of our car and made our hasty getaway. Then we ate pizza and chips for tea.

Saturday.

Posted some Amazon sales that should have left on Friday, but what with “business” getting in the way they didn’t. Then we went to visit my great grandmother, a.k.a. Nanny. Nanny is a true rebel. She has it all. A shadowy past that noone may mention, rebellious acts of bingo winning and money laundering aplenty, she’s one tough cookie. I remember one year she handed out one hundred pounds to each of her great granchildren, in order to maintain her current taxation band on her pension. She PLAYED the system.

She’s up to even more shenanigans these days, as she has invested in a mobility scooter. She had neglected to tell any family member of this purchase, so the first anyone heard was after my brother visited. She told him quite happily that she had ridden into the local village on that bad boy, for a wander because the weather was nice. Fair play say you and I. This woman struggles to walk. She has only just recovered from life threatening illness (well, the flu, but at that age [late NINETIES], anything is potentially lethal). She has lived in her current apartment all of my life at least (twenty four years) and has never left the building. Needless to say upon discovery of this joyride, my grandmother was aghast. My grandfather thought it was hilarious. But my grandmother worried. My stance is that if she wants to live it up on her mobility scooter, then hell, go for it. She can scare the teenagers off the streets in 8mph pursuits lasting till Bingo starts at eight.

Sunday

Mother’s Day. Passed on a delightful poem to my mother which went down well I think. It was a tasty little number that’s for sure. I wrote the thing then added a photoshoped picture of my siblings and I, followed by pdf protecting the whole thing. It took time, but was worth the effort. We celebrated the day with a large breakfast, as the day was being rudely interrupted by the small matter of my brother joining up to the RAF on this day. So, he left, nerves aflutter, and mother cried as all mothers do when their children bugger off and do stuff. I responded stoically by maintaining the rubber seal around my car door. Outbursts of emotion are still not my forte.

We too then dallied off back to Lincoln, laden with cardboard to begin the process of packing up everything we own ready for the move. Arrived in Lincoln, rested and slept ready for house hunting to begin tomorrow.

Monday.

The morning’s lengthy three and a half hour drive was broken up by intermittent misdirection and service station stops. It was largely uneventful. Property viewings commenced upon arrival in Surrey, at a building which, from the outside oozed British charm and potential.

Charm oozing House.

Look at it’s beautiful little door. The pleasant greenery surround. Make some audible cooing noises. Then open the front door. What a first impression. You are met with carpet that befit the seventies, at a push. We are talking tessellating brown and yellow shapes all over the place. Combined with the strangest floor plan and layout I’ve ever seen, upon exit, the property was scratched from the list of hopefuls. Don’t judge your books by their covers people.

More viewings followed, some of which were very nice, but that sort of thing can be saved for a future post. We finished the viewing on a high and drove to a car park before receiving directions on how the blooming hell to get to the travelodge we were staying at.

Tuesday.

Today was meant to be a quick dash to Farnham for the wife to sign her employment contract, followed by some viewings but it turned out that the estate agent was both incompetent and lazy. After supposedly compiling a list for us to look at, we arrived to be told that he was out till the afternoon. We arrive in the afternoon to find no list, one “student”-esque let, and an agent who pretty much provided an anti-agent service. He found one property, to which he said “it wouldn’t suit you”. He shoos us out stating “I’ll call with some ideas in 10mins” to which we hear no reply. So, if you are reading this, and are looking for property in the Farnham area, Gascoigne Pees are utter rubbish agents. Avoid like benefit thieves dodge tax payments.

We stuck around in Aldershot to meet a landlord for a potential property (again, future post), then began the long slog at the wheel back to Lincoln. This journey was much more eventful than the outward journey. Indeed so much so that it warranted a phone call to the police. We were following a lorry at a roundabout. It misjudged the roundabout completely and ended up swerving round to realign itself on the road. I figured that would be the end of that – accidents happen. How wrong. Twenty minutes later we have watched said lorry manage to maintain a path in which at any point, some of his wheels were either off the road, or in an alternate lane to that which he was aiming for. There were instances where it nearly crashed into trees. There were instances where it nearly took out overtaking vehicles. In fact I sorely wish I hadn’t been driving so I could have captured that moment on my phone. It would have been like we were filming an episode of some Police car chase show. I could have the voice of Sheriff John Bunnel going over the top of my footage. He’d have some fantastically cheesy comment that would perfectly fit the way this lorry driver completely didn’t want to be on the road.

We kept behind this lorry till it disappeared down a slip road. We called the police fairly early on in the proceedings. The only sign we got that they were aware of the situation was a sign lit up about 3 miles down stating

Don't Drive Tired!

Please. Please don’t. It’s not safe. Although it may provide entertainment for a brief spell, don’t do it. There were definite moments where I thought we’d be pulling some dead trucker out of his overturned cab. As much as it was crazy with a k to see, I really do not want to see something like it again.

…

So there were the last few days. Thanks for reading the behemoth post.

I’d like to sum this up with a pleasant sweeping comment that fits all of the stories mentioned. But I haven’t got one, so instead you get a sentence that comments on how I’d like to have one.