Sunday, 1 April 2007

Heaven can wait

Listening to: I Am The Resurrection (Stone Roses)
Reading: To Kill A Mockingbird (Harper Lee)
Watching: Glorious (Eddie Izzard)
Eating: Mashed potatoes (with mint sauce)
Drinking: too much

So here we are at the beginning of April and still stuck in the Midlands, the giant stride where no former sports writer has boldly gone before on the backburner for a few weeks thanks to the great single problem we like to refer to as life.

The whole move to Westray hinges on us getting the cash together to pay for the renovation of the house and farm buildings and set up a business. That would be no problem as we have two houses to sell, both bought before the astonishing (and surely unsustainable) price rises of recent years.

Easy, huh?

Well it would be, but this is us and being a bit half-soaked, it hasn't gone smoothly.

My wife's house in Wolverhampton has yet to be sold for a variety of reasons which I won't go into public, while my DIY dithering means our Shrewsbury home is still a few days away from going on the market.

Things came to a head about four weeks ago when we decided that I would put back my hoped for moving date from the beginning of March until. . . well, that's yet to be decided.

Apart from the house problems, there are one or two other issues that needed to be seen to before rushing off to Orkney, not least my new habit of buying Land Rovers. If I left as planned, it would have meant Sal having to sell two houses, two cars, look after four teenagers, hold down a full-time job, feed and muck out a horse, find time to sleep. . . the tears were a bit of a clue, so I decided to stay on for a few weeks.

Back to the Land Rovers. The Beast has sat outside like a mobile traffic-calming measure for several months, roaring occasionally up to the stables so I can tend to needs of the horse from hell (more of which later).

However, fun though a Series II Land Rover is, it's bloody uncomfortable, noisy and not too keen on starting on cold mornings - oh how I and the busload of commuters laughed when it stopped dead in the middle of the road just outside our local newsagents in February.

That prompted me to look for something a little more suited to our needs (comfy seats for a start). My mum's next door neighbour and a very good friend of the family Monica had recently treated herself to a Land Rover Freelander which left her 14-year-old Discovery surplus to requirements.

Negotiations took about as long as it takes to pop the lid on a jug of scrumpy and I was off to Devon to pick up the new, improved. Actually, I've called it Lennox because it's big, black and you wouldn't want to get into a fight with it. It rumbles along at 55mph, doing 40-plus to the gallon (take note Mr Chancellor, you ignorant,townie numpty), it tows like a dream and I feel pretty damn good in it.

Sadly, as predicted in a previous post, this means The Beast must go. It's a shame because I like nothing better at 7.30 on a Sunday morning than chugging along our street making sure everyone is up. Spike, my Jack Russell terrier, will miss it as he has learned to open the passenger side window and loves to lean out, ears flapping in a carefee manner while he yaps and snarls at any other dogs he considers to be worthy of the attention (that'll be all of them, then).

Despite that strong emotional attachment, The Beast is up for sale and buyers are asked to start haggling at around £1,500.

In case any of the four people who view this site were wondering (thank you Mr and Mrs Wainwright, I don't know what I would do without you), I've let it lie for several reasons: 1 Too busy, 2 Too lazy, 3 Too unable to get near a working computer, 4 Too unwilling to get into an interminable argument with a certain Reg Pither in which neither of us would accept the other might be a little bit right. So there.

1 comment:

Reg Pither said...

I thought we'd agreed that I AM RIGHT?
Now to the matter of your postings. Let it lie? Let it Lie!!!!! Samuel Pepys has posted more since he died!!
And another thing, when are you ever going to answer your phone/texts, you half-arsed, away-with-the-fairies, pseudo-twiddly-diddly-dee, sparrow-legged, Marge-Simpson-coiffured numbskull? I've been trying to get you out for a beer but without success. As a result, I've had to drink for two over these last couple of weeks,

Yours with deepest affection,

25 per cent of your readership.