Well, it was one of those weekends. A weekend that started with me innocently asking Matt the questions: "where the hell are we going to send Eliott to school?" and "how are we expected to live through another baking hot summer without a garden?" And ended with a very nice estate agent coming to value our house and telling us we've likely made a tidy sum on our (partially trampy) flat.
Aye, just when you thought it was safe to laminate your address book, we're planning yet another move. This time it could be for keeps - it appears we can afford a house! (In a slightly less convenient area with a greater chance of midnight mugging). It's not until next spring, but leave a space in your diary for the house-warming, or should I say, GARDEN PARTY!
This news has cheered me up no end - although not nearly as much as Eliott's formal speech therapy assessment. "There's nowt wrong with him" was the upshot of that experience.
Other news from the last hundred years includes the scintilating tale of my mystery illness. It started on holiday - I blame Flambards and its' classy fast-food eatery, "Gannets" (that'll learn me). Two weeks of meeting my meals again far sooner than expected and I'm a stone lighter in weight and a few commissions short of an income. Damn. I'm feeling much more human now and shall no doubt get me mojo back with regards to work. No news on the "sample" I had to provide for the doctor (why oh why is the plastic scoop so small?????) but no doubt they would have rung if I had bowel cancer.
Talking of shit, Eliott is frequently covered in it at the moment. He is determined to potty train himself, pulling his pants and shorts down this morning on the common and plonking himself on Ezra's pot, while I continue to bury my head in the sand and insist he's not ready. On Friday he took himself off to the bedroom, clearly unimpressed with my sense of smell, and reappeared nappy-less, with dump all over his hands and feet. Several hours of scrubbing and several litres of Zoflora later and Matt commented that our house stinks of dogs. Two days later and it's back to humming of human waste again.
Is it any wonder our des res is worth a small fortune?
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8 comments:
don't leeeeeeeeeeave us!!!
no worries minks, we'll just stow away in a box
JoJo! Fab news on Eliotts speech! Really cool that y'all can get a house now, although it sounds like your cool neighbours may want to cling onto you tho!
And next saturday for the article, yeah? It's circled on my diary. A few more of them and you'll be in Belgravia, dahling.
that's great news that you've made money on your place... well, Eliott is really growing up, eh!!
Thanks, poppets.
Yes Pete - 12th August, The Grauniad is mine at last!
he's clearly trying to tell you something! lol
Wonderful news re speech therapy - now all you have to worry about for the next few years is this school business.
Don't mention the "S" word.
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