Let the beacons flare

I should be in bed; I have an early start tomorrow, and it will be a long day.

The room is packed, re-acquaintance has been made with forgotten possessions, whilst others have been consigned to oblivion. Tomorrow night, I shall have nothing left here of significance other than my clothes, my PC, the portable TV, the Archos with portable speakers and three books to get me through the week.

And my shredder.

The final week will be taken up with throwing out those last few scraps that have evaded the onslaught, and packing the remaining bits and pieces I can't quite get at now. Then there will be one last run over with the Hoover and duster and I'm done with Clapham.

By mid afternoon, Saturday 12th February, Bromfelde Road will be a memory fifteen years in the building, and commencing the first of several weeks in the fading. This house doesn't feel like home anymore, but neither yet, does Whetstone. Still, time to move on. My roots remain, as ever, some 150 miles further to the north and west.

It will be a change, and a good one.

And it's been a long time coming.

Let the beacons flare

I should be in bed; I have an early start tomorrow, and it will be a long day.

The room is packed, re-acquaintance has been made with forgotten possessions, whilst others have been consigned to oblivion. Tomorrow night, I shall have nothing left here of significance other than my clothes, my PC, the portable TV, the Archos with portable speakers and three books to get me through the week.

And my shredder.

The final week will be taken up with throwing out those last few scraps that have evaded the onslaught, and packing the remaining bits and pieces I can't quite get at now. Then there will be one last run over with the Hoover and duster and I'm done with Clapham.

By mid afternoon, Saturday 12th February, Bromfelde Road will be a memory fifteen years in the building, and commencing the first of several weeks in the fading. This house doesn't feel like home anymore, but neither yet, does Whetstone. Still, time to move on. My roots remain, as ever, some 150 miles further to the north and west.

It will be a change, and a good one.

And it's been a long time coming.

Oh, it all aches

Six more nights, and that's it.

Today, in the company, and with the much welcome and needed help, of John O'C, Glyn and Ratboy¹ (Lee) -all sans LJ- I have taken the bulk² to Whetstone. My PC and I are now in a very, very bare flat which is need of a damn good cleaning. There is still some stuff to be shoved in waste bags and dropped out for the bin men, but it is largely done. This is one of those times I wish I had a digital camera, so you could see the befores and afters of the situation.

It looks as though Adam has agreed to leave the cables and routers in place when he moves out, so we will try and pick up his contract; although it is no-where as near the speed of service I was hoping for, it will be much faster than my current dial up access. I may have to wait a while until the broadband comes my way, but it is now on the horizon.

I'm sure this room echoes now it's so empty. Certainly it seems a tad chillier (though the fact that the window is wide open is doubtless a contributory factor there).

By way of an observation, I should like to suggest that there are few pass times more suited to demonstrating precisely how unfit a person is, than lugging boxes up and down flights of stairs for most of a day. Once again, I am forcibly reminded that a smoking fatty is a poor thing to be. Well, I am hoping to start stopping smoking from next weekend. New start, new environment, new routine and all that malarkey.

For now, I am going to collapse on my bed and think about the last bits of clearing I need to do. From tomorrow, I think. Not now.

¹Lee, it appears, has ears capable of hearing the frequencies put out by my electronic mouse deterrent. Humans are not supposed to have this ability. Hence Ratboy. He wanted to be known as Bat-Boy, but such was his loud and continued disparagement of my move-shui that he is now and forever, Ratboy. I shall ensure this by passing the story to Shotgun who has been itching to find a retaliatory nickname.
²The word bulk should be read literally.

Oh, it all aches

Six more nights, and that's it.

Today, in the company, and with the much welcome and needed help, of John O'C, Glyn and Ratboy¹ (Lee) -all sans LJ- I have taken the bulk² to Whetstone. My PC and I are now in a very, very bare flat which is need of a damn good cleaning. There is still some stuff to be shoved in waste bags and dropped out for the bin men, but it is largely done. This is one of those times I wish I had a digital camera, so you could see the befores and afters of the situation.

It looks as though Adam has agreed to leave the cables and routers in place when he moves out, so we will try and pick up his contract; although it is no-where as near the speed of service I was hoping for, it will be much faster than my current dial up access. I may have to wait a while until the broadband comes my way, but it is now on the horizon.

I'm sure this room echoes now it's so empty. Certainly it seems a tad chillier (though the fact that the window is wide open is doubtless a contributory factor there).

By way of an observation, I should like to suggest that there are few pass times more suited to demonstrating precisely how unfit a person is, than lugging boxes up and down flights of stairs for most of a day. Once again, I am forcibly reminded that a smoking fatty is a poor thing to be. Well, I am hoping to start stopping smoking from next weekend. New start, new environment, new routine and all that malarkey.

For now, I am going to collapse on my bed and think about the last bits of clearing I need to do. From tomorrow, I think. Not now.

¹Lee, it appears, has ears capable of hearing the frequencies put out by my electronic mouse deterrent. Humans are not supposed to have this ability. Hence Ratboy. He wanted to be known as Bat-Boy, but such was his loud and continued disparagement of my move-shui that he is now and forever, Ratboy. I shall ensure this by passing the story to Shotgun who has been itching to find a retaliatory nickname.
²The word bulk should be read literally.