Well, life for the next month is going to consist of boxes and bubble-wrap, packing and boxes – that’s right, folks. Jean and I are moving from our first England home of a year and a half to our first ever house! I cant even explain how excited I am – I mean, we’ve even started packing…a month in advance. That’s never happened before.
We’re moving to a fabulous little house in Orpington, which is not far from where we live now, but within the Greater London border (read: the M25 – that big ass hell on earth of a highway around London) – it is a 2 bedder, 2 bathroom semi-detached house with a massive garden (this was a non-negotiable for me) and a garage (this was a non-negotiable for Jean), space for a dining room table (also a non-negotiable for me) and is bordering country and suburb which suits us just fine. I’ve been wanting to move into a house for a while and, as we plan on having kidlings in the near future (again, Im not pregnant so calm down), what better time? We also want out kitties to have a life outside (actually, I’d like to not have to deal with a litterbox and their excessive amounts of fluff shedding). So that’s, that – end of May is when we make a departure for Orp dorp and, true to form, I’ve already booked the moving company, researched the local surgery, booked the transfer of our internet and changed the cats’ chip details.
Yesterday (bank holiday Monday), Jean and I, bravely, ventured into the Swedish home décor abyss that is Ikea….per my predictions (which is that a trip to Ikea is the ultimate relationship test), Jean and I quarrelled in the car while sitting in a traffic queue to park (45 minutes and an argument about capitalism later). Thankfully, things got better from there and we spent a solid 3 hours milling around and drawing inspiration from the many, many, many sets…although we still have no idea what we’re going to do, décor-wise, in our new house. Go figure. I did, however, manage to drop a glob of mashed potato into my shoe while we stopped and had lunch in the massive canteen which is smack-bang in the middle of the building and which you have to walk past in order to continue shopping.
Anyway, enough about moving. Next week is my last week at Access before I begin my sparkly new job at Mimecast – and I cannot wait! Although, with everything going on – i.e moving, trip to Belfast, etc, it really is the worst timing, but YOLO (feeling very 2014 right now, can you tell?)
Anyway, as an aside – Jean And I have had an ongoing discussion about pub names for the past few months, and we have decided that pubs in England are (mostly) centred around about 10 common pubs names – the rest of the pubs that dont fall in line with these naming conventions were, obviously, owned by someone very flamboyant who, very possibly, was tried for treason, witchcraft or perversion (because why else would you be flamboyant) and was beheaded at the tower of London (only logical outcome, right?). These 10 are:
- The Duke’s Head
- The King’s Head
- The Queen’s Head (well, now that the entire family is here…)
- The Nag’s Head (can’t imagine how this one came about)
- The Black Horse
- The White Horse (…..)
- The Rose
- The Crown
- The Rose and Crown (someone, obvs, got a bit creative with this one)
- The George and Dragon (why it is always George and Dragon? I just dont know)
- The Prince of Wales (and if you are feminist pub owner, you’d call it the princess of Wales…original, eh?)
- The Bull (literally seen dozens of these)
Okay, thats 12…close enough. They’re all about rolling heads and horses here apparently.
Thats enough nonsense for one day.