*waves*

*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*

*ponders*

*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. 

*waves bub-bye*

please God bless the local folk and their local ways xxx Elsabeth