*stamps petulant feet in frustration due to lack of batteries and therefore lack of random pictures of new abode*
*laughs with tiredness*
*strokes kinky bear figurine*
*gets bored with this*
*decides to write sensibly*
My brand spanking new bed makes me feel dizzy. I feel so close to the ceiling. I never suffered from vertigo till that damn scary plane ride last autumn. Grrr.
Our garage is being used as a storage facility by the previous owners. Grrr.
We won’t have any bedroom furniture till the beginning of June. Grrr.
I seem to have acquired a taste for anything in birch veneer. Except for my gorgeously chunky antique-stained coffee table [Ikea is so delicious]. Not really a Grrr.
My bathroom isn’t brown. Yay!
I have heaps of time to ponder various issues whilst I walk to the bus stop [ten minutes], sit on the bus [forty minutes], walk to work [twenty minutes] (break for work, no time to ponder, must chase naughty teenagers and try to make them work) get a lift to the bus station [five minutes], sit at the bus station [an hour], sit on the bus [forty minutes] and walk home [ten minutes].
You’d think that I’d ponder the important issues. Maybe a smattering of politics, a dash of current affairs and a healthy dollop of I wonder what’s going to happen in Enders tonight.
But no. Instead I come up with simple things – like this …
You Know You’re In The Area That I’ve Moved To When …
- there’s no signal for your mobile phone when in your own house but get to the edge of town and you have a signal that can’t get any bloody fuller
- you’re waiting for a bus and realise that one won’t turn up for about three hours – but then why would a town of approximately seventeen thousand souls actually need a regular bus service?
- there are only two main roads out of town
- both of them are very curvy due to the fact that if they were straight they would sink quicker
- as you approach the town you can’t fail to notice the pungent aroma of onions
- nor can you fail to notice that the locals won’t speak to you until you’re a fully-fledged member of their clan [initiation rites are simple -you have to have lived here for at least three years]
- you recognise fifth generation localites by their uncanny resemblances and shortness [it’s an inbreeding thing, what else can you expect from a town that spent much of its time being an island till civilisation arrived?]
- upon leaving town down the curvy roads you spy nothing and everything for miles. Literally. It’s so flat here that nothing and everything looks rather surreal
- people stop pronouncing their t’s
- Oooh Aaah
Ah, I think I’m going to like this town.
please God bless the local folk and their local ways xxx Elsabeth