After A Long and Unexplained Absence
Some thoughts on moving house:
Looking for a new house sucks. While searching for houses on the internet be wary of the following terms:
Quint = small and poky.
Old Style Charm = cracks in the walls and an outside loo.
Quiet living = located in a back alleyway where people come to dump dead bodies and unwanted pets.
Realstate agents never return phone calls.
Why do I find it impossible to throw anything away?
While sorting though drawer number 1 of RANDOM STUFF I found:
1 pirate eye patch
1 pirate dagger
1 plastic compass
1 plastic telescope
1 small box of assorted Indian cotton, sugar cubes, saffron, a small jar of honey, and a large walnut.
1 packet of candy hearts at least four years old
1 fortune cookie message reading: Tonight Will Change Your Life
1 pink turtle pin cushion
I also found the dreaded box of high school letters. In amongst the letters declaring that all men are emotionally retarded, there was also some incredibly bad poetry. The kind that should never have been committed to paper and if read, induces bleeding from ones eyeballs. Why any woman in her right mind would choose to wander the grounds of a ruined castle wearing a flimsy and flowing white cotton dress weeping and wringing her hands is now beyond me. I find it worrying that at some point in my past this kind of behaviour made complete sense.
There were, however, some truly hilarious and heartwarming letters. One of them even managed to bring a tear to Jelly’s eyes, no mean feat I assure you. It was from the sentimental and big hearted friend who carried a little clay beetle around in his pocket named Stuart Sutcliffe and named his pet chickens Dear Prudence and Polythene Pam.
Some conclusions I have drawn from this experience:
House hunting should only be conducted under the influence of hard liquor.
Packing is wonderful procrastination.
I am truly thankful the melodramatic days of high school are a distant memory.
Looking for a new house sucks. While searching for houses on the internet be wary of the following terms:
Quint = small and poky.
Old Style Charm = cracks in the walls and an outside loo.
Quiet living = located in a back alleyway where people come to dump dead bodies and unwanted pets.
Realstate agents never return phone calls.
Why do I find it impossible to throw anything away?
While sorting though drawer number 1 of RANDOM STUFF I found:
1 pirate eye patch
1 pirate dagger
1 plastic compass
1 plastic telescope
1 small box of assorted Indian cotton, sugar cubes, saffron, a small jar of honey, and a large walnut.
1 packet of candy hearts at least four years old
1 fortune cookie message reading: Tonight Will Change Your Life
1 pink turtle pin cushion
I also found the dreaded box of high school letters. In amongst the letters declaring that all men are emotionally retarded, there was also some incredibly bad poetry. The kind that should never have been committed to paper and if read, induces bleeding from ones eyeballs. Why any woman in her right mind would choose to wander the grounds of a ruined castle wearing a flimsy and flowing white cotton dress weeping and wringing her hands is now beyond me. I find it worrying that at some point in my past this kind of behaviour made complete sense.
There were, however, some truly hilarious and heartwarming letters. One of them even managed to bring a tear to Jelly’s eyes, no mean feat I assure you. It was from the sentimental and big hearted friend who carried a little clay beetle around in his pocket named Stuart Sutcliffe and named his pet chickens Dear Prudence and Polythene Pam.
Some conclusions I have drawn from this experience:
House hunting should only be conducted under the influence of hard liquor.
Packing is wonderful procrastination.
I am truly thankful the melodramatic days of high school are a distant memory.
posted by canoe at 12:13 PM
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