I know I've not finished regaling (aka boring) you with stories of Svalbard (where it's not -37.6C, but when we were there it was a pathetic -1C) but so much else has happened, so I'll do Svalbard later.
1st: Groaning Debt
It seems that after 6 painful, head banging against the wall, hair wrenching months, I've finally exchanged on my flat! I'm getting the keys on Friday, and legally, I'm bound to it like a hostage, gagged and flung into the back of a car. However, as nothing with this house has gone smoothly, the vendor can't move out of the flat until Sunday, because he can't drive and he has to wait for his brother to help him move (what is wrong with hiring a dude and a truck I ask?) , the vendor, his girlfriend and son will be squatting in my flat for 48 hours. My esteemed estate agent told me "well, this does happen all the time, but best not mention it to your lawyer eh?". So obviously not trusting this sleazy man as far as I could throw his short, squat, rotund, little body, I ran and told my lawyer who was less than pleased. But still, squatting aside, it's done now, and some of my lovely friends are helping me move my junk on Monday. Love the lovely friends
It's finally happened. The Flatmate has an end date, a get out of jail, exit strategy finally planned.
Last Friday, removalists came to pack up his stuff and ship it all back to Australia. Naturally, being a complete hoarder, his estimated 15 boxes turned into 35, probably because he's taken a load of my crap too (why? my dresses won't fit him, he's way too tall!). So our flat is not 1/2 empty, and devoid of all things his. Amusing he's living out of a suit case for the next 2 weeks, and because they've taken all his stuff, including his linen, he is sleeping in his sleeping bag, on a naked mattress. Talk about temporary. Also, being seduced by the lovely warm March spring weather last week, he packed all his cold weather gear, and now is paying the price as it's fucking freezing in London, and it's starting to snow again. Snow. In London. In March. It must be some sort of punishment from the gods for abandoning me. Obviously the gods are on my side, and want the wicked Flatmate to freeze. Ha!
So the next 2 weeks are FOP week for The Flatmate (FOP = Fuck Off Phil). A vast array of events, all involving eating, drinking and spending money I don't actually have anymore.
3. Punishment for Boggle Eyes.
Speaking of punishment, on Saturday, probably in answer to me taking C and The Flatmate to Aylesbury, where Dr D grew up, for a truly, mid England, thug filled, old men coping off with old women in sleazy nightclubs, with lots of underage kids thrown in the mix as well, night out. We thought The Flatmate needed to see the randomness that is a night on the tiles in Aylesbury. And also I was making a last ditch attempt at keeping The Flatmate in London, by throwing a 5Ft 9, blond, yes slightly boggled eyed, friend of Dr Dr in his path. Of course it never works out the way I plan, as whilst she looked kindof interested in The Flatmate, that interest waned very quickly when Dr D said "well, I work with her* (pointing at me) and he (pointing at the Flatmate) lives with her (pointing back at me).." At this, her boggle eyes looked at The Flatmate, then back at me, then back at the Flatmate, probably trying to work out what sort of weird bunch we were, then she buggered off literally 10 seconds later. So in punishment for me trying to change The Flatmates destiny, I've managed to end up with tendonitis (or more accurately De Quervian tenosynovitis) in my right wrist. Basically, my wrist is fucked, and I can't grip, hold a pen, move a mouse or type. You find being a programmer who can't type or use a mouse is very difficult. I went to the minor injuries unit at the hospital yesterday, only to wait in the queue behind what seemed like a thousand people, all of whom seemed to have open cuts, broken feet or missing limbs. 2 hours I sat waiting, so I could finally see a nurse, try and explain that whilst I did go out on Sat night, and yes, my wrist started hurting on Sat night, I did not go out, get pissed, and fall over and hurt myself, and that this definitely is not a UDI (Unidentified Drinking Injury). 20 seconds of looking and my arm, she sticks my wrist in a splint, says "rest" and packs me off. So much for the NHS.
*Amended because Dr D has issues. BIG HAIRY ISSUES.
So that's what's been happening here. Sprained limbs, house moving, and FOP events. It's going to be very weird now as we start doing our "lasts" of everything. Last dinners at fave restaurants, last nights in, last fights involving fisty cuffs, and kicking.. It all sounds a bit perverse huh? Good thing The Flatmate never reads this..