The Move Out!

So...that was probably the most stressful thing I've ever done in my life - my newly developed eye twitch (something that's just come on in the last 5 days - clearly a result of the oscillating emotions) is twitching like it's on Acid. Brill.

My dad came up to London from Poole to help me move which was...ummm...helpful yet despairngly irritating too. As my dad gets older he is getting more and more impatient and more and more grumpy and more and more stressed and more and more highly strung - It's actually impossible to have a normal conversation with him when he has a task to do. God, getting out the house was like a military operation and I was only allowed an hour and a half to do it! Quel Horror!

Anyway, got there in the end - mostly. Packed up all my boxes - EURGH and then took one final look at my empty room. Then decided that although we're getting cleaners in I should probably run the hoover over the carpet before I left. I tried to run the hoover over my carpet but the fucking stupid cunting hoover spat even more shit over my carpet then it picked up so after about 10 mins of that game I gave up, took one final final look at my empty room and walked away from a wonderful chapter in my life (and a pretty messy carpet).

If the last year and a half has been a wonderful chapter then the 4 hours that immediately followed was a horrible sentence that I thought would never end. This is all I have the inclination to say as I don't wish to relive those hours: If my dad, who has never lived in London, either listened to me or listened to the Sat Nav or stopped changing the destination and route on the Sat Nav (I hate the stupid cow - yes, the Sat Nav is personified in my world - but even she must have been getting confused) or didn't just keep bemoaning the lack of a map then maybe, just maybe, the journey out of London would have gone more smoothly.