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I will be lucky to get through this move in one piece. I still need to catch up on my sleep and am spending most of my day moving boxes and bits of furniture around and have managed a surprisingly number of injuries. Yesterday I slipped on the stairs and aggravated a pulled muscle in my arm. I was lucky not to fall all the way down and just lay on the stairs moaning (to no one as Catie wasn't home). My hands have been ripped to shreds in various accidents, mostly in trying and failing to get the loft ladder in the loft. But this morning I was moving some old framed posters around and got nipped in the finger by the broken glass on my old TMWRNJ poster (of me and Stew dressed as Richard and Judy. Bitten by my past. The people who write my life are laying on the symbolism a bit too thickly. The fucking hacks (in both senses).
I did however, get stuff moved around to see where the best place for the new snooker arena is. I have a different board now (the one I used once for a live frame, which I bought for £35 on ebay off a man who lived in a mansion). It's slate based and I am worried it might be too flat, but hopefully five years in my garage will have fucked it. Sadly I don't think I can make it work with the sofa in there too. I didn't really want the sofa, but we couldn't get it in the living room because it was too big and there was a radiator in the way.
The old board is going to be chopped up so that you have the chance to own a piece of the hallowed turf. Details of that forthcoming. Don't know if we will auction or kickstart or do a raffle. Maybe all of the above.
I went back to the old house to bring back more things, whilst taking over some rubbish because our bins here are full (the only good thing about having two houses, two mortgages and two sets of bills is that you get double the bin collections - not sure that makes up for the expense). Whilst trying to fill the bin I pushed down the other binbags and cut the back of my hand quite badly, I presume on the broken bowl that I mentioned the other day. It may have not made it to the new house, but it got the last laugh.
Weirdly the gash didn't bleed straight away, but the wound looked quite deep. I didn't think there was a first aid kit in the old house, so I wrapped it in a towel. It did start to bleed and hurt and every time I thought I'd stemmed the flow I would pick something up and it'd bleed again. But I carried on regardless (and later found some plasters in the bathroom). If this carries on I might lose a finger, but I've got 10 of those so can afford to lose a couple. I've lost 50% of my testicles. But I don't like to talk about it.
Of course this is a living Hell, made worse by the absence of internet (should be in tomorrow). A few things aren't working and we have to await the return of the builders, but aside from this the house already feels 100% like home. Can we keep it nice? Of course not, but once we've broken it we'll move on to another one.
