Despite the Financial Crisis we're all supposed to be in the middle of, great and unexpected things have been happening at the House At The Top of The Bloody Great Hill. The first being the selling of the aforementioned lofty abode, the second being the purchase of a modest pile somewhere in the middle of the wheatfields of Lincolnshire.
Yes, this is a long winded way of saying the house has been sold, and we're moving further north. I am preparing for a future of splendid isolation by planning what fruit trees to plant and listening to Neil Young.
So the last two months have been mostly spent showing bored people around the house, being shown around peoples houses, tidying, filling out forms, not shouting at Estate Agents, phonecalls, photocopying, filling more forms, spending more time in a bank than is reasonable (unless, of course, you're planning a caper) and signing many virtually identical pieces of paper.
Soon the solicitors will sacrifice a rocket & mozzerella paninni to their arcane gods, and we will experience the delights of moving all our stuff, plus 3 cats that don't like being in the same room together.
But we still have Neil Young.
