It has been a very strange couple of weeks. It has gone from seemingly normal with “something on the horizon” to “RED ALERT, RED ALERT” rapidly. In hindsight, as I’m relaxing a few days after the fact, I could have started sooner. My friend procrastination kept me company and made sure that I waited until the last minute. We managed to get the boxes packed in the end. There was, however, a lot more to do after Cat and the boys left than I anticipated.
The removal of the furniture went really smoothly, and I was left with a nearly empty house. Left only with the things that need to be thrown away. And a bed for me to sleep on.
The day of the handover
The day of the key handover was stressful. I had a final trip to the top planned for the bed on which I had been sleeping. As I was about to venture out, the estate agent arrived to do the final check. He was 30 minutes early. He was annoyingly cheerful. I went to the tip.
When I returned, his first words were, “it looks like you need another couple of hours to finish off.”
This did not endear him to me.
I explained to him stiffly that I had previously arranged with the buyers that I would leave some furniture behind. I was also not going to clean the house, as the new owners intended to rip out all the floors and kitchen. He could also politely go fuck himself.
Anyway it was all fine the buyers didn’t change their mind because the floor was a bit dirty, and we signed contracts etc.
For some reason that I have yet to fathom, I offered to help the new owners move some things around. So, the next day, I arrived at my former house of 16 years to help a man I barely knew to move a wardrobe. I stuck around long enough to do that, but I couldn’t stand to watch the workmen destroy the kitchen that I installed 16 years ago.
That was it for me. I left. I’d had enough.
Now I am sitting in a friend’s garden, typing out these few thoughts. Next, episode of the adventure will be to go to see Rammstein in Nijmegen on Tuesday. Episode 3 will be to fly to Ireland on Wednesday.