No man no van
The Australian never showed. Two and a half hours of waiting with all of my possessions in boxes, no phone call, messages left of the voicemails of three separate chirpy Antipodeans, where is my man with a van? I gave up waiting and went to the pub.
I seem to have been in the pub every day since (partly because all I had left to eat was teabags and flour and all my stuff was in boxes). I have beer fatigue (characterised by enlarged stomach, flinching at the sight of fried food, and mystery bruises). The last week has been a combination of excessive alcohol consumption, packing, unpacking, hugging miserable friends, cooking for miserable friends, and making lots of sympathetic noises. I have a soggy shoulder, a bent ear, a furry liver and almost no sense of humour left to speak of.
He’s probably bitter that they lost the cricket and couldn’t face an hour with a whinging Pom. How was he to know that you wouldn’t know a thing about it? Are you moved now - do you have Internet in the new gaff?
hrmm. Mystery bruises, I have one on my right hip and right thigh. One would think we would be having a lot more fun getting banged up, but no, just a transistion period.