I’m sitting writing this in my new apartment, praying that my data package from my iPhone holds out (how much data could a blog post take up?) since we’ve been informed that our broadband provider won’t be sending someone around until at least next Monday. I’m surrounded by most of our belongings, some unpacked, some still in boxes – the remains in the other place which we still have the keys to until Thursday. The joys of moving house.
It’s been a long journey here, and the settling in period isn’t proving any less stressful. It’s like a pregnancy in a way, now we’re into the fourth trimester of the house move, we’ve the shiny new baby apartment, and we have to figure out the best way to do things from here. I’m about as good at house hunting stress as I am at pregnancy (i.e.: crap) so I am very, very glad it’s over and done with. I didn’t realise just how much of an issue our toddler, loud and lively as he is, would be with certain landlords. One even refused to outright say it, but did attempt (very blatantly) to talk me out of living in her house – and berated me for my lack of driving skill in the process. We didn’t get the house we intended to get, we are in apartment land again, but we’re now on the ground floor in a lovely professionally run place so I’m happy. Read More