Tuesday, 17 June 2008

Can we arrange a baby trade?

Current mood:  stressed

Yes, I have a deal for you.  Your baby for ours?  I don't think Emma will let us have Gabriella.  Especially not for the baby we have for trade.  Yeah, you were wondering what baby I was talking about, weren't you?  Don't worry - I'm most certainly not his mother.  He's almost bald, wears glasses, and is 61 years old.
Yes, David, the big baby.
So I had the most awful night, disturbed by the drunks next door who spent the best part of it dancing in the street, and playing their music SO loud we could actually hear the lyrics (some in English, some in Polish - it was a very amusing CD)!  I kept having weird dreams about Emma and Nick wandering around in this house, and Mum actually fainting with embarassment when they saw the back room - which is no worse than any of the other rooms, by the way.
Well, Mum finally got out of bed quite late in the morning, and must have disturbed me further, as I kept stirring, checking out of the window and seeing that David's car was still there (hence, he was in the bathroom and I couldn't get dressed), and having to go back to sleep.  I eventually was able to get up at about 11am.  By the time I got downstairs, trouble was stirring in Grottsville again.
Mum had already been on the phone to David, who had told her she'd lost a further £1200 of her savings.  And David had been on the phone to Chris Picton three times.  Yes, Chris is already back from the arm operation which he was supposed to take three weeks to recover from.  I don't think he was ever going into hospital in the first place.
Well, David has now had a huge argument with Chris, and told him to lower the windows in the loft - I think I mentioned that yesterday though?  The days are all so mixed up and stressful now, I really can't remember what happened when.  Well, he's had a blazing row with him in order to get it done now, so goodness knows how long this is going to take.  Hopefully, just under two weeks.  Yeah, right.
The architect says he can't make the box bedroom its original size, so there is no way that any of us can sleep in there.  So it's agreed.  Mum is sleeping upstairs in what was to be David's "Office/Library" as he is now calling it.  Apparently, it always was a library.  Well, at least he's admitting it now!
He still says he isn't moving there, and instead he wants to "slit his throat", as "there's no future for him now"...  Oh dear, oh dear.  Maybe I should tell him to "die and go to Hell!" like he did when I really was seriously depressed a couple of weeks back. 
Oh yes, but I have no reason to be depressed.  Despite my orthodontic surgery (which is absolutely nothing to whinge about, of course.  David already told us that!), lack of bedroom, and bed (Which I am awful for mentioning), lack of education, and inability to do simple things like go out on my own, have friends or wear decent clothes in the short term, I "do have a future", unlike him.  I'd like to know what future I have.  Working behind a counter in a branch of Tesco somewhere in the UK, scanning other people's groceries, probably forced to marry and have kids because I'll need someone with a better income?  *Sighs*  But sure, I'm young, even though my youth has been wasted, so yeah, I have a future, even if it isn't a good one, like the life he's had so far.
Anyhow, enough of that.  He's "piling money into a house that is no good to him".  (Never mind all the years he's had US living HERE in misery) While we live there, he's "going into digs", and "working to pay off the loan for the rest of his life".  In the next breath, "how am I supposed to fit into this short bath you want?"  Now that he's giving up his office/library to make way for a bedroom for Mum, he'll have to block in his shower room, and use that for storage for his books, don't you know?  Which means he'll have to use the bath.  "Er, but I thought you weren't moving in with us?" Mum said.  "Well...I'm not.  But are you saying you don't ever want to see me?!"  So obviously he is coming to visit us, so that he can use the bath.   Idiot.
He just about let us in on his plans though - finally.  He intends on staying here for ages, sorting through all of his newspapers, ripping out all the pages he wants to keep to bring with him to Woodbe...I mean digs, of course!  After all, he has to "make this house suitable for living in, before he can sell it".  Well, we've been "living" in it for quite some time, David.  And I really don't think fixing it up will make much difference to the price in this area.
Depending on how much money he has, he may stay here, and rent out a couple of rooms to the Polish people who want to live in this area - running a kind of bed and breakfast thing.  I don't think that would really worked out.  As Mum laughed in a Polish accent, "Where is our landlord - he is in the loo?  When we get our breakfast of Polish sausages?"  Actually very, very true, even if sounds silly.  I find it hard to imagine David running a B&B.
Well, I guess that's about all.  We looked at bathroom layouts tonight.  Finally, David agreed to do it now that it's probably too late for that too, and Chris will have plumbed in his idea of the perfect bathrooms for us, including in David's "cupboard" in the loft.   We should be going to look at bathroom showrooms tomorrow.
I also washed some more ponies.  I don't have enough straws left to re-curl the Rainbow Curl Ponies' ringlets more than one at a time though, and it's driving me mad.  I've set my eczema off again now too, which is always an annoyance.  Stupid hands.  I don't think I'll get them all done before Iceland now - we leave on Friday afternoon, and return on Tuesday evening, by the way.  So if you don't get a message from me for a while, you know the reason.
Thanks for reading! Hope you are all doing fine,

*~♥~*Desirée Skylark*~♥~*

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