A Moving Story
It must be the gypsy in me. Why else would I be on the
move again for the fifth time in as many years? Once
more my belongings and my worldly goods will be packed
up into cardboard boxes, loaded into the back of some
old bloke's van and deposited at a new place, ready to
be unpacked and start all over again.
I like moving, as you can tell! So long as it's to
somewhere better, somewhere nicer. I even moved to Los
Angeles once. And then I moved back. 3 years of
earthquakes, riots, fires, storms and homesickness was
more than I could take. When I lived in LA, I moved
twice. The first time was to an apartment and the
second time was to a house that the realtor assured us
cheerfully was a "great fixer-upper" when she knew full
well it was a complete "faller-downer-money-pit". But,
fixer-it-upper we did. It had a new roof, new walls,
new floors, new garden. In fact there wasn't much of
the old place left when we'd finished with it. At the
point when the roof was replaced, we spent one night
under the stars with no roof. "No problem" said he who
should have known better. "It never rains in Southern
California". No, it doesn't rain. It pours. The
heavens open and soaks you like you've known before.
And it did so on this very evening when we didn't have
a roof. We'd had months of drought and dry, cracked
river beds but it came down like cats and dogs the only
night we didn't have a roof on our house. I remember
trying to cook the dinner with a pan of boiling pasta
in one hand, and an umbrella in the other. I vowed
then that I would never go through this building lark
again.
When we moved back to England, our new house wasn't
quite ready to move into. Oh, this time I made sure
the roof was on and it was completely watertight.
Problem was, we had no kitchen. Having moved out of
our rented accommodation, we were forced into living in
the partially finished house. Upstairs all was normal,
everything was finished except carpeting. Downstairs
was another matter. Chaos ruled. Workmen stomped
about, hammering nails in and drinking tea. We had no
way of cooking so spent most evenings in the local pub
sampling the fayre, but you can only live on scampi and
chips for so long. We were in there so often the
landlord invited us to the staff Christmas party. When
we did eat cold food in the house, our new bathroom
suite was used as a makeshift kitchen sink. I vowed
again I would never suffer this building lark.
And so, we're on the move again. Not as far as America
this time. In fact, not very far at all. After an
offer we couldn't refuse, we're moving the grand
distance of 500 yards to build a new house on
the same site as we live already. But, there's a
problem. The new people want to be in our house in
June. Our new house won't be ready until September.
This time I've put my foot down. I'm not roughing it
in a dusty half built house with wires hanging out of
the walls, no plumbing, and bags of cement in the
toilet. I wonder if my mother still has that spare
bedroom......
Glenda Young is also the writer of the
weekly Coronation
Street Update on the net, and can be contacted at:
glenda@londonmall.co.uk
Previous experiences of a thirty-something...
Other Columnists
Back to the London Mall
Opinions contained herein are purely those of the author, and should be
considered seperate to those of Micro Media Services Ltd