Retrospective 3

A busy week. The mornings start with this view from my bed, and a big purry, drooly cuddle with Hamish, who spends the rest of his time behind the wardrobe or out in the garden from dusk onwards. He seems happy here.

The garden will be a Spring project; there's a lot of bare earth, and too many fuschias for my liking. At the end is the linhay, home to many of my empty boxes awaiting freecycling, and a large toad.

On Wednesday the 3 Good Fairies came, and the Lovely Son left.

We worked, then went to Dunster, and ate a large cream tea.

And then they had to go for their evening flight. A brief visit, but a lovely one.

We wept. The dogs moped. Three favourite aunties all at once; they had been in heaven!

All at once, the cats seemed settled enough to be allowed out. After all, how would they learn where they lived if they were kept shut in all the time?

Three of them are there in the garden somewhere.

While someone else did what she does best.

As the week went on, anxiety increased about the whereabouts of the lamb tagine. I toiled through box after box, until, in the furthest corner....

There it was! Along with a sad lettuce, half a cabbage, and a morsel of very malodorous feta cheese. It had all gone in the removals wagon rather than the car because I had left just as the neatly-packed contents of the fridge were discovered - still in the fridge.

The lamb tagine had been tightly wrapped up, so there was no smell.

Just signs of bacterial life....

The days went on, the boxes decreased in height and number.

The lovely neighbours brought fresh eggs and a huge fudgy chocolate cake.

Along with a card and some sweet little gifts.

Lizzie's neighbour Harold, who is about 81, and does woodwork as a hobby, had made me a special holder for artificial flowers.

And a tealight holder.

Flossie found that the kitchen door was just the right height to look in and sigh over how slowly Tosca was eating her dinner before the special labrador dish-polishing was required.

We all became friends with the puppy next door.

His feet are larger than Flossie's.

And he is learning that when a cat says no, she means NO!

He and Flossie steal each other's chews.

And we love him.

In fact, we love pretty much everything just now!

Retrospective 2

The next morning. It had been utterly silent outside throughout the night, and oh, the stars! Now we had to wait for the wagon; it had been delayed because of motorway closure, and wouldn't arrive until late afternoon.

Cards had been waiting for us.

Lizzie brought lovely gifts.

There was lots of space to relax - for some people, at least.

The sun shone.

The television worked (I had bought this and a good deal of bedroom and dining furniture from the vendor) but without any sitting room furniture in place, the true horror of gas and electricity meters was exposed. A job for the handy Lovely Son at some point.

And then the removals wagon arrived....

And suddenly there wasn't any space any more in which to relax. Or sit down, even for a moment.

So little furniture but so many boxes!

The men were horrified at having to leave me with the cliff-face of boxes, but that was what I preferred - I had no idea where much of it was to go, and preferred to have it all left downstairs, to unpack later.

And off they went, reversing with enormous care and skill down the narrow twisting road.

Round the corner....

And away they went. It would be tomorrow before they reached home.

The cats could be allowed out into the cottage now. They are writing their version of events on their own blog here.

Retrospective 1

Moving day. Sandra was well-prepared - no one was going to take the parking spaces required by the removals wagon!

A cheerful smiley team loaded my worldly goods onto the wagon. What is it about this process that makes all one's furniture look like it should be going straight to the tip?

The two boys went quietly - Lottie was their calming influence in the surprisingly roomy crate. Millie was outraged by being confined with the boys, and had to travel in a separate carrier.

Goodbye, Bacteria Gardens. I had lived there for 29 years and 1 month.

Sandra and Lynn finished the packing, finding all sorts of things I had forgotten, and making sure the house was left clean and tidy. What lovely friends.

It was a long, long journey down the M6, with several comfort stops for the dogs. No one complained; I was so impressed by their calm and acceptance.

The Lovely Son drove for most of the way, as I was too tired to drive safely for long; the weeks of anxiety and hurried packing were taking their toll.

A bean bag on my knees was just right for a small dog, who forgot that she was usually car-sick, and slept soundly between stops.

Flossie was patient in her harness on the back seat.

At last, eight and a half hours after setting off, we arrived. Food and beds were organised for the animals, the cats remaining in the 'utility' - in reality a ramshackle lean-to at the side of the house that will be next year's exciting project -  for the night. Our beds were made up (thankfully, I had bought the new beds that had belonged to the cottage) and we fell into them.

Tomorrow the wagon would arrive, and the unloading would begin.

Bulletin 2; toxic waste, freedom and frogs

In haste: just wanted to put you out of your misery. The lamb tagine was found today, in the 3rd-from-last box in the furthest corner of the room in which, at my insistence, all the boxes had been left. I thought of keeping it and becoming a mass poisoner, but wisely binned it instead. I did take a photo of it, though, through its plastic box and several layers of cling film, because I thought you'd like to see what 7-day-old Very Toxic Spots look like. Be patient. I have hundreds of photos to post one day....

I texted Sandra to tell her about my find, and she - unforgiveably, I think, for not having told me this sooner, replied "the food boxes went on last, so were unloaded first". Maybe she credited me with more common sense than I actually possess.

In other news, as they say on the BBC, I have singlehandedly unpacked about 3000 boxes, and can now see some carpet in the sitting room. The Lovely Son returns on Thursday to help move stuff around, although I seem to have done that myself for days. I am beyond tired.

The cats roam free, in and out of the windows and the little diddy back door, and apart from Hamish, who mostly roams free behind the wardrobe until dinnertime, are evidently enthralled with their new life. Millie caught a small frog today, although it was rescued unharmed. I planted some of the things I had brought from Newcastle, and noted that the many snails that had hitchhiked down with us seemed to have dispersed - for now.

I will be online by the end of the week, and can immerse myself in blogs and emails again, but hope you won't go away; your comments have been so wonderful to read!

My face aches. I find myself smiling all the time, and have to get a grip lest I am branded by the locals as that loopy incomer who walks about with a deranged grin.....

More in due course.

PS It's warm here, away from the North Sea. Just sayin'......

PPS The Bacteria Gardens Potato Competition was held today; Sandra submitted my crop. Apparently I won. Life just gets better and better!

Bulletin from a new life

We're here. We love it.

Oh, you want more? Ok then....

As I'm on Lizzie's computer, no chance of photos yet, although there are many, but I'll post them later, so that you can love it too. Meantime, here are the bare bones of a most eventful week:

Moving day (Monday): Lottie in puppy crate with the two boys, Scooter occasionally giving a little "Mew!" but otherwise everyone quiet and calm. Millie in a solo carrier, as her ferocious growling indicated a horror of being bundled in with the others. Flossie a bit cramped on a single back seat with a harness, Tosca on my knee on a beanbag. The car stuffed to the roof with what would be needed for the journey, that night and the day to follow before the removals wagon would arrive.

Somewhere in there was a plastic box containing a lamb tagine and cous cous made by friend Lynn for our dinner that night, a saucepan, plates and cutlery. Except that the dinner seems to have been packed inside something else by mistake and put on the wagon: it hasn't appeared yet, so may have to be searched for by sniffer dogs trained in detecting toxic waste.

Arrival : a slow journey, in hot sunshine, with several stops. Reached the cottage after 8-and-a-half hours of travel. Thank goodness for M&S at motorway services. The animals behaved perfectly; no bodily functions in evidence at all. Cats decanted into utility area for the night, Hamish leaping up onto a beam and declaring that he would never come down again. Until his dinner appeared. I forget what we had for dinner, but it wasn't lamb tagine.

The Lovely Son was under orders not to tell me if he hated the cottage. But he loved it from the moment he walked in, and said that it immediately felt like home. Cards were waiting, including from some of you - thank you!

Tuesday: The removals men arrived, after long slow diversion off closed motorway. Unloaded enormous van in narrow road, in hot sunshine; everyone now knows me and what my worldy goods consist of. Cats remained locked in utility, dogs helped the removals men. Neighbours were friendly and welcoming, and no one complained audibly about having to negotiate driving round a huge wagon obstructing the highway. Amazing and impressive to watch the wagon being reversed adeptly down the road and round the corner at the end of the day; people came out of the pub to watch.

Wednesday: Day of the Good Fairies. I was expecting friend Lynn, who had booked a day return flight and car hire to see the cottage for the first time, and to help me unpack. Tearful greetings and welcome ensued. Two minutes later, the doorknocker sounded, and there stood Sandra, secretly travelling with Lynn. Underslept and overwhelmed, I wept all over her. Two minutes later.... there was Annie. The three Good Fairies had arrived with flowers, plants, lunch, and the declared intention of doing as much work as they could manage in the time before getting their flight home that evening. The Lovely Son (who had known of the 3GFs' plot) had to get the bus and train home, but the 3GFs sorted the kitchen cupboards, watered the garden, served and ate lunch, and later we all trooped off in hot sunshine to lovely Dunster for a cream tea. An amazing day, and a wonderful start to my new life, surrounded by love, support and help from dear friends.

Thursday: Boxes. Boxes. Boxes. Walks with Lizzie, who is a tower of strength and support. Found the towels. Didn't find the lamb tagine.

Friday: Two new-laid eggs from my neighbour's chickens. Yet more lovely cards in the post. Found my computer, although I'm not online yet. We will exchange and complete on the house today, and I won't need to be a non-rent-paying tenant in the cottage any longer (thank you, lovely Lady Vendor!) The flying freehold issue remains a mystery, but I won't bore you with the details.

More in due course. I am never moving house again. 

I must get on.... The Search For The Lamb Tagine: my life's work.

Suffering

Captured alive - no injuries

No injuries so far, at any rate.

Those of you who have found my constant anxiety about Hamish contagious may be relieved to know that he is shut up in the shower room as I type.

This doesn't mean that he is safely in a travel crate - that will be tomorrow's hurdle - or that he is happy, oh no. There have been howls.

But as he was on my bed - the closest he gets to me as a rule - and purring next to his beloved Lottie at 5 a.m., I took advantage, slipped out from under the duvet, and quickly shut my bedroom door. An alarmed Hamish tried the door and then the firmly-closed dormer window, at which point I picked a sleepy Tosca out of her own bed (yes, I do have to sleep with cats and one dog in my room) and exited sharply.

After waiting long enough for it to be safe to wake the Lovely Son (who I think has earned the right to sleep till 6 a.m.) we made a barricade on the landing, the LS holding a huge cardboard box in place to prevent a stout ginger bullet from careering down the stairs, and I opened the bedroom door. Out sauntered Lottie, chirruping, followed at speed by the stout ginger bullet who found himself unable to flee anywhere but into the shower room.

So what? you may ask? What's so special about getting a cat from one room into another? Simple!

As indeed it proved, in the end. But a huge load of months-old anxiety has shifted.

Stage 2 involves getting Scooter, stouter and slower, and apt to crouch down and howl in defeat if cornered, into the same room, where beds, litter tray and that very special food that comes in tiny tins and costs almost as much as caviar await. The boys can spend their last Sunday in this house as prisoners of a kindly tyrant.

Step 3 involves getting them both into the travel crate tomorrow morning. My computer will have been packed up by then, so you will have to wait to know how we got on, but I anticipate prison riots, attempted breakouts, intimidation of guards, and very loud shouting.

And now, more of this:

 (Scooter is lurking under the desk)

This is my life. I'm not complaining.

See you in Somerset.

Ruthless - and cruel too!

Some things simply won't fit into my new house. Some could be parted with easily, especially if they were going to loving homes (oddly, no one wanted Hamish*....) and some simply got left out in the back lane, to vanish very quickly. I have been fairly ruthless about some things, although the Lovely Son still thinks I'm taking far too much.

The old tallboy - or Scotch press (above) - was a source of some anguish, but really was too big and too much at odds with the style of the cottage to fit in comfortably, and a friend of a friend was thrilled to receive it for her Victorian house.

But this meant getting it down from the attic.....

Four strong men spent a very long time bringing it downstairs, my warning to NOT chip any paintwork on the staircase ringing in their ears.

We three women did other things meantime (I got rid of passed on a new carpet at the same time, showed them the brochure of the cottage, chatted about how many people we knew in common, you know how you do) and wondered what on earth was taking the aforesaid four strong men so long.

When they finally got down to the hall, puffing and sweating, well, I don't know what cruel impulse possessed me, but I found myself casually remarking that it had originally been carted up to the attic many years ago by Tricia, her weedy boyfriend, and me.

But it was true; it had.

Then, with miles of rope and more puffing and sweating, they heaved the tallboy onto the roof rack, and went off with it, where it will be carted into its new home - at the top of the house.

Now I must stop blogging and get on with the chaos that is packing of all the miscellaneous items.


* only kidding, Hamish, honest