NotJustAHatStand

Our last night in the flat hasn't been what you'd call a roaring success. We're mostly all packed, but Fiance and I are not speaking, I've sustained a nasty looking and quite painful scratch from my cat Coco, and I ate my dinner off a tray in front of the PC.

Fiance is a staunch Hearts supporter, and I may have mentioned that I'm not the world's biggest football fan. This naturally causes the occasional bit of friction. He actually broached the subject of going to the game tonight, THE NIGHT BEFORE WE MOVE OUT. Needless to say, he was laughed at. And then bitch-slapped. He abandoned that idea, in favour of watching it on the TV (because 90 minutes on the telly is actually LESS TIME than in the real world - didn't you know?)

Anyway, we went over to the new place about 7pm with more boxes, and he started watching the game while I unpacked the kitchen stuff. I then discovered that the pilot light in the boiler had gone out, so there was no hot water (and the landlord's now on holiday for 3 weeks so we'll have to sort it ourselves - grr!).

We left the new flat at half time, to come back to our current flat via the chippy. Fiance was of course in a major hurry to get back in time for the second half, so was a complete twonk during the drive back (most of which was spent enduring the dulcet tones of some dimwitted ex-player who's too lardy to actually PLAY football anymore, so settles for talking about it instead). We got back to our street, and due to the proximity of our house to the stadium where the game was taking place, the closest parking space we could get was 4 streets away (prompting much huffing from Fiance and caustic remarks from me that it was his stupid team's fault we couldn't get parked in the first place). Within 30 seconds of opening the door, the boy had the TV on and was happily tucking into his pizza. Having had enough of the Stupid Fucking Football (as it is known in my house), and in the absence of anywhere else to go, I came and sat here, in front of the PC with my dinner.

Coco followed me and tried to jump into my lap but because she's just a bit too wee she couldn't quite make it and had to use her claws to hoik herself up. Unfortunately for me, I was wearing shorts. I now have a large, deep, scratch on my thigh that has swelled up and feels like it's burning. I lost my temper with Coco, grabbed her and marched through to the living room, deposited her there, none too gently, and slammed the door behind me. I then came back through here, sat down and burst into tears.

I can't decide if this awful, depressing last night here is a sign that we've done the right thing by selling the place, or a warning that we're making a mistake by moving.

Or just that my fiance is a twonk and football should be banned in the interests of harmonious relationships everywhere.

**In other news, we've not been able to get a phoneline for the new flat (BT want £130 to set up a phone line! Ha!), so posts may be few and far between for the next wee while**

...we move.

I've got the next couple of days off work, but the flat still isn't completely packed up so I spent most of the morning today sitting at my desk, freaking out about everything I still had to do and mumbling under my breath. I did manage to do SOME work, but eventually at about midday my boss asked me if I wanted a half day (just to get rid of me I think).

So after promising to actually PACK when I got home, instead of watching Neighbours, I raced out of the door at 12.30. I'm now at home contemplating my to-do list for this afternoon/evening, and feeling positively faint (maybe I'll just watch a tiny bit of Neighbours with a cuppa. THEN I'll get started...)

On a positive note, The Spot seems to have abandoned it's plan for world domination, and has all but disappeared.

The move continues apace. We're moving in on Thursday, so we're feverishly packing boxes and transporting them to the new flat. But enough of my impending house-move (even I'm bored of it).

I've recently discovered this website, and have been spending my lunch hours going through the archives and sniggering heartily at the inspired bitchiness of the two women who run the website.

I know it's childish but I love the 'What Were You Thinking' section of Heat magazine (containing awful celebrity outfits). The 'Circle of Shame' (where they pick out celebrity boogers, exposed nipples and unsightly sweat patches) is also fun.

So Go Fug Yourself is exactly the kind of thing that appeals to me. Even though some of the 'celebrities' are American d-listers you've never heard of, it's still fun to laugh at em. And what on earth is this??!! WTF?!! She needs to visit a doctor before her still-beating heart falls out of that hole and lands on the carpet - fluff is not good for the workings of the ventricles.

Makes me feel better about the HE-UGE spot I can feel developing on my chin, which I am trying to hide with copious amounts of Touche Eclat and a large, wide-brimmed hat.

**Update - The Spot has now grown to the size of a small country and is expressing ambitions to invade England. Have abandoned hat, and replaced with a large paper bag**

We've now started the process of moving our stuff into the new flat... This is the first time I've sat down today, other than on the loo. I'm pooped!

I'm coming to the conclusion that I have too many books. 'Just over 300' doesn't sound all that much, but believe me IT IS WHEN YOU HAVE TO CARRY EM ALL, as I'm finding out to my displeasure on some of the hottest days in the year. Fiance came up with the idea of transporting them in suitcases rather than boxes, which has turned out to be a good plan. The only problem is that we don't have enough suitcases - I filled three medium sized ones (the kind with the wheels and extendable handles), plus one large cardboard box, and one large plastic crate and I STILL didn't fit them all in. I've got a whole other bookcase to go yet!

Still, it feels good just to be doing something about moving now - it's progress.

I've also become quite addicted to eBay in the last few days. I seem to go through phases where I'm not interested, and then all of a sudden I get quite obsessive about it. I bought this jug last week (to use on my new kitchen table! I'm getting a table!), and it arrived today. Last night I came across a miniature dictionary similar to the one on this page and had to have it for my collection (that was a tense auction, I totally didn't think I'd win that one), and I've just been outbid for a 1939 edition of this (gah!). It's ok though, I plan to swoop in and make a cheeky last minute bid right before the auction ends.*

*I know I said that I have too many books as it is, but the first one is so tiny that it will hardly make a difference, and what difference is one more normal-sized book going to make in the scheme of things? Yes I know I'm rationalising... I do that.

**Update: I lost the auction for the T.S. Eliot book. But there's another one for sale on eBay, I'm keeping my eye on that... Just out of interest, you understand.

I was woken up at 1.30 this morning, by a loud banging noise and a woman shrieking continuously at the top of her voice for at least a full minute, in the street outside my house. I don't know who it was or what was going on, and neither do I care. The banging noise was either the reason she was shrieking, or the sound of her head being bounced off something to stop the screaming.

Whatever the cause, I was woken up suddenly by it and lay for ages afterwards, unable to sleep because of the squirt of adrenaline caused by being rudely awoken, thinking about burglars and murderers breaking into my mum's house and her having no-one to protect her.

It never fails to astound me just how selfish some people can be - whatever the problem was, it didn't have to disturb the entire street, but this harpie didn't seem to care who heard her. Maybe she had a good reason for screaming, but I'm definitely suffering from sympathy fatigue. I don't care whether her husband was battering her. I don't care whether she dropped a hammer on her toe. Or that she had fallen down the stairs, or found out that her budgie had died. JUST DO IT QUIETLY BITCH!

I CANNOT WAIT to move away from that godforsaken place.

There was a slight possibility that I might've been in line for a fairly hefty payrise. Despite the fact that I OBVIOUSLY deserve a payrise, I never really expected to get it as I'm not generally a lucky person when it comes to money.

Today, it was confirmed that I'm definitely NOT getting it. Unless I go through a heavy appeal process that probably won't make any difference anyway.

What's bugging me is that the job I USED to do has been upgraded. So despite the fact that I applied for, and got, a job on a higher grade, I will now be on the same salary as the girl who now does my previous job. And a friend of mine who is currently on the same grade as me, is getting the payrise that I have been refused.

Pissed off? You betcha.

Our solicitor has confirmed that the sale of our flat has now concluded, and the purchase of our new flat is also final. So no going back for any of us!

It's exciting, but it's now dawning on me that I will have to say goodbye to the first home that Fiance and I bought together. The flat where we got engaged. The flat where my dad put up the shelves/blinds/curtain poles, and Fiance's dad fitted most of the lights/plugs/wiring.

Neither dad will ever get to see the new flat.

I feel kind of like I'm saying goodbye to a(nother) little piece of my dad by leaving the flat, and moving to a place where his presence has never been, nor will ever be in future. It's kind of weird. Although I'm excited about moving there, it's a strange feeling to know that I'll be living somewhere that my dad never saw or approved (although he would have approved, I'm sure of that!).

It feels like I'm breaking some sort of unwritten rule, spending all that money on a property without my dad seeing it first.

It seems like the world's gone mad recently.

The Middle East is on the verge of all-out war (so what's new), the poor people in Java have been battered by ANOTHER tsunami (which has killed 300 so far), China has just been hit by a nasty tropical storm (another 200 dead), Dubya is going around saying 'Yo Blair' to our Prime Minister (WTF?), and talking with his mouth full (Yuck. Although I wouldn't expect anything less from the nitwit), and Britain is baking in 30C plus temperatures (thank god for air-con).

It's all wrong. WRONG, I tell you.

I feel all back-to-front.

I've been remiss with my posting again. I blame it on the combination of nice weather, an unpleasant trip to the doctor (involving a needle, a small Rod of Wonder, and a fair bit of bruising), a flat requiring packing up and, well, being a lazy bitch.

Anyway, please forgive me, I'm back now.

I've not been up to much really. I sold my mega-comfy-but-fairly-impractical sofa, which has resulted in my cats shooting me contemptuous looks, en route to their perfectly comfortable cat-bed.

I took a walk in the Meadows yesterday, and ate half of a LARGE pizza last night. Then felt pretty disgusted with myself, and resolved to eat healthily from NOW ON. I've just finished a lunch of salad, and some dried fruit and some nuts. It won't last.

I'm known amongst my family and friends for having an obsessive need to spell-check everything.

**Side story: When we went to see Pirates of the Caribbean on Saturday, my sister made us wait until the very end of the credits to see the hidden scene and I enthusiastically pointed out a spelling mistake in the credits. Seriously.

The hidden scene was totally worth sitting through the 8 minutes of credits though!**

Anyhoo, because of this reputation my friend asked me to look through her CV for any spelling/grammar errors. There were hardly any, and I handed it back to her with a note congratulating her on a job well done. Today she emailed to say that one of the companies she'd sent it to (as an experiment to test the recruitment waters in a different country) were very impressed and wanted to fly her over there for an interview. Great news for her, but what bothered me was this:

HER CV WAS BLOODY FANTASTIC.

She's the same age as me, we did the same subjects at school and we did the same degree. And yet here she is, having been headhunted by the company she currently works for, managing a whole team of people (she has an assistant for pete's sake!) and a rather sizeable budget.

I on the other hand, fell into the higher education establishment where I work by accident, and have clung on with limpet-like tenacity ever since. I've applied for, and been offered, two jobs since I began working here so it's not like I'm at the absolute bottom of the pile, but the work I do has no bearing on my degree and I'm not even that good at it. Yet I don't seem to have any other options - other than my vague aspirations to be a writer, and I seem to lack a certain something there (namely a chemical imbalance and an actual BOOK). I lack the killer instinct and self-confidence, which my friend has in abundance. More importantly though, I lack the motivation to push my career forward because there are only a limited number of options open to me just now, and very few of these hold any interest for me.

In conclusion, I'm going nowhere fast career-wise, and I need to come up with something soon as it's starting to really depress me :o(

I don't really know what to write about today. I'm torn between:

1) the film I saw on Saturday night;
2) the blessed end to the World Cup and consequent return to normal of my life and TV viewing habits;
3) the nightmarish journey into work I had this morning (thanks to Edinburgh Council and their extensive program of working on every road between my house and office) or;
4) the HUGE MOTH that invaded my house yesterday.

I'll leave #1 for now - I'll post that another time (and by another time I mean never). In the meantime, here's a review from the BBC. Suffice to say that I LOVE JOHNNY DEPP with the fire of a thousand suns, and by god I wish Keira Knightley would stop pouting.

On #2 all I will say is: Thank f*** that's over.

#3 is kind of self-explanatory. Ardmillan Terrace is closed, so Slateford Road is an effing nightmare during rush hour just now. At least they do seem to be working on it though - there are actual WORKMEN there, doing things with pneumatic drills and steam-rollers. There is also much work going on to replace water pipes in the Old Town (where I work), so that's real fun as well.

#4 I find quite difficult to talk about without shuddering so bear with me.

#shudders#

I have a pathological fear of moths because of a moth-related incident when I was little, which was furthered by a similar incident a couple of years ago in my last office (which was in a very old part of Edinburgh's Old Town).

I saw something brown on the carpet in my spare room on Sunday. Now, being the owner of two cats brown things on the carpet are to be expected occasionally, so I bent down to investigate. At that moment the brown thing which I had taken to be a piece of cat poop, opened its WINGS (it had wings!) and FLEW AWAY.

#checks for moths on person#

I FREAKED out of course, and attempted to drag my poor fiance from the shower to come and deal with The Moth, for that's what it was. A particularly fat, hairy moth the size of a light aircraft. It was at least an inch from nose to tail (I don't know if moths have noses or tails but you know what I mean), and had a good two inch wingspan.

Anyway Fiance refused to get out of the shower to get rid of a bug, and I spent the next 10 minutes hovering in the hallway, too scared to walk past the door to the spare room in case it should choose that moment to fly out of the room and into my hair, nose or mouth.
Fiance eventually captured The Moth after much searching in vain (all the while casting me doubtful looks that plainly said 'if the damn moth was as big as you say I'd have found it by now'). Thankfully I was able to leave the house and get away from it's evil glare for a while, but it wasn't captured until 11pm last night - it appeared from its lair and attempted to smash its way out of the window like a scene from the lesser known Hitchcock horror movie, The Moths.

I'm a nervous wreck.

#shudder shudder shudder#

I got drunk last night.

The bar we were in had a 2 for 1 deal on French Martinis (which are DELICIOUS by the way, but surprisingly potent), and I drank, oh at least, well, definitely more than one anyway.

Okay, I had approx 4 or 5 of these little glasses full of heaven before I lost count. Then I had a malibu and pineapple, because it was raining outside and malibu makes me feel like I'm on holiday.

Still, I managed to leave the pub at 10pm, despite the cries of 'piker!' and 'you dag!' from my Australian colleague who's leaving do it was, and was home by 10.45. For some reason I was clutching a sausage supper, which I normally wouldn't buy but last night it was tasteeee! Thankfully I woke up today with only a bit of a headache, and felt fine after a couple of paracetamol and a half gallon of cloudy apple juice (my not-so-secret secret hangover cure)

A girl in my office is leaving today so we're going for drinks after work. The last time we went out I said beforehand that I'd go along for a few drinks, but that I wouldn't be out late (considering my tolerance of alcohol equates to the tolerance of my fiance for shopping).

Needless to say I stumbled home at midnight after many, many cocktails and one or two shots thrown in for good measure. I just about managed to remove my make-up, clothes and the bag of chips I had procured from somewhere, before falling into bed. I then woke up the following day with a raging hangover, and spent most of the day whimpering and trying not to move my head.

NOT THIS TIME.

It is under three weeks until we have to move out of the flat, and we haven't packed so much as a cup. Tomorrow, it's going to be Packing City in my flat.

I cannot do this with a hangover.

I WILL BE GOOD.

I WILL I WILL I WILL.

Update to follow.

We FINALLY found a flat to rent over the summer!

It's not far from our new house, and it's a ground floor, unfurnished TWO bedroom flat (so no need for storage). It has a lovely palette of colours - the previous owners have painted over the bright yellow paint in one of the bedrooms with a lovely lilac colour, but in their wisdom (read: LAZINESS) they decided to paint ROUND their furniture. So we have a particularly attractive lilac/yellow combo in that room.

There's also what looks like a small patch of Peruvian rainforest in the back garden, so that will present some interesting wildlife spotting opportunities - I swear I saw one of these in there.

However I don't care about any of this, I'm just so relieved that we've finally found somewhere. Off to have a celebratory wee.

I've just realised I've not posted anything since Thursday... I wish I could say it's because I had a wild weekend of drinking, dancing and getting chatted up - but I can't because I didn't. I cleaned my house, went food shopping, and cleaned up my drunk Fiance who staggered home drunk after the England game on Saturday.

I've just been out for lunch and I'm sure the pedestrian crossing outside Biblos on the corner of South Bridge/Chambers St is broken. I frequently stand there for 5+ minutes, waiting for the green man. I tend to just wait, because as soon as I step off the kerb, a car or bus comes zooming out of nowhere and I have to leap back to safety.

I think someone has been fiddling with the crossing, and that there's one of those hidden camera crews hiding somewhere, watching all the confused and impatient people repeatedly punching the button or taking their chances with the traffic.