Well we have moved. Sort of.
The removal men turned up yesterday and diligently packed everything I couldn’t be arsed to. Unlike last time (I think it must be a weekday thing) they didn’t seem in a rush and sent two guys who seemed to mostly do international jobs in Italy. We talked a lot about so and so’s palatial pad in Cortona, how Chris Evans was moved (and how nice Billie was) and how you must call Richard Branson ‘Dickie’ if you move house for him. Interesting gossip all ’round and my Eames chairs were well looked after.
Interestingly head removal guy (as opposed to well meaning assistant removal guy with bad breath) knew his furniture and architecture and he complimented me on my Danish chest of drawers and my Swedish sideboard. I glowed in the kind words of a guy doing a tiny house move in South London when he was more used to handling £5m Henry Moore sculptures in Perugia. HHG liked what we done to our flat too so I chalked up some brownie points against all the millionaires.
Our stuff is now in storage awaiting our purchase in Brighton to go through. We have decamped meanwhile to a short term rented flat Kemp Town. Our sale has been annoying beyond belief. We moved out yesterday as our buyer was pushing to complete and wanted to move in on the 12th June. For two weeks now we have been meant to exchange ‘any day’. Guess what we haven’t. We busted a gut renting an (expensive) temporary flat and arranging removal men and storage at lightning speed so we could proceed. These things have to be paid for in advance y’know. So come the 12th and she can’t move, just bloody brilliant. Solicitor informs us today we should exchange today or Monday (I am not holding my breath) with completion a day or two after. Our purchase completion date is slated for 30th June. Let’s see how well that date sticks eh? We are on holiday from the 10th so we must complete by the 7th. That is my self imposed deadline. *worries*
M however is overjoyed at not having to commute back and forth from Brighton to London each day so I am very pleased for him.
Well the rented flat is frankly pants. We were promised broadband wifi and we have neither, ie. NO INTERNET AT ALL. How is one meant to live without the internets godammit?! I rang the agent and gave him some choice words and he popped around all contrite bearing a wifi dongle. This does mean I can blog on the beach but I can’t blog at home as the flat turns out to be in a basement with no mobile reception whatsoever. THEY ARE FOOLS. So this post comes courtesy of a ’stolen’ wifi connection that I can access if I sit on the right hand side of the bed and squint a bit. Hurrah and huzzah.
More flat pantness is the lack of hooks to put anything up (goodbye coat and bathrobe), no hangers (goodbye clothes) and no hand towels. I am obviously a spoilt bitch wanting hooks and towels. Besides being in a basement we have builders above and to the side who are noisy and SMOKE outside my door and shout at each other loudly in Russian all day. ARRRGGH. Those who know the traumas of our five month redevelopment recently will know I never want to hear smoking belching noisy builders ever again. To the other side we have a big (and strangely squeaky) barking dog and a new born baby. GREAT. A little gaiety came my way last night when walking back to the flat I noticed the scaffolding on the house opposite bore the following sign:
“Always a satisfying erection.” Marvellous.
A total aside here, Italy are playing today and I am so nervous. They have to win this one. Oh mio dio.
On the plus side of the rented flat we are in Kemp Town, which I previously knew nothing of. It’s bloody brilliant. Shops upon shops upon shops. Mostly little one off artisanal shops. Like Doctor Who I love a little shop. We are buying our flat slap bang over the other side of Brighton off Western Road / Church Road way, but I like Kemp Town very much (you know everything Kemp Town? I like it. *glee*) I bought two bags of mostly fairtrade or home grown shopping from the lovely little co-op and Italian deli around the corner in my canvas bags - no laughing at the back - and felt at one with the world strolling in the sunshine. I kept catching glimpses of the very blue sea as I passed the end of each road and sighed a satisfied sigh.
For the interested I can recommend on one days acquaintance with this part of Brighton: the top of St. James’s Street and Upper St. James’s Street going onto St George’s Street for great little retro / antique / homewares / flea market-ish shops and a fabulous framers who had the very overblown Louis style frames I wanted for my spare room project. Double hurrah. In particular ‘In-Retro-spect’ who had some wonderful vintage fabrics in brown and orange.
Right I must away as the footy is on imminently.
