Now, obviously it is terrific to be back in Exeter, the city that we love. The last few weeks back here have been a ball. A mad roller coaster, but a complete ball none the less.
However, the fact that we still have yet to sell the house we left behind in Dorset looms large over us. The debt, plus interest, that we owe OH’s parents, grows by the day. Last weekend was a frenetic tornado of painting; painting alarmingly yellow skirting boards, painting over the plaster that had to be laid to compensate for our embarrassing attempt at wallpapering (yes, yes, we resorted to fixing the corners with superglue. I know. You don’t need to say a WORD.) and this weekend was spent again, racing up there and mowing the lawn. Which miraculously, in the space of only a few weeks, had transformed from civilised outdoor space, to something a little like a cross between the depths of the Amazon Rainforest and Day of the Triffids. All in the name of selling the god-damned house. Just sell, god damn it! Sell!! Surely someone out there wants a house with period features, minutes away from the main station and the town??
Anyway, today, I waged war on those weeds. It was to be a theme of the day actually; a battle which I knew, deep down, I stood feck all chance of winning. Even as I desperately hacked the weeds to shreds and feverishly poured neat weedkiller into their severed roots, I could just tell that the last laugh would be with them, as they spread inexorably across the garden. Seriously, some of the bastards were virtually as tall as I was. I do hope the neighbours weren’t listening to me muttering ‘die, you vile bastards’ over and over again in a worryingly deranged fashion. They might have thought they were previously residing next to some sort of serial killer or something. (perhaps in a truly modern twist, who buried her victims under the decking rather than a patio?)
The losing battle continued after we had left, when we attempted to go to the local supermarket cafe. Queues out the door and a complete lack of space to sit down impeded that one, which reduced DB1 into a wailing wreck on the supermarket floor. After we had passed through the stages of gentle persuasion and begging, we bypassed a few and proceeded directly to simply leaving him there until he gave up and followed. We then made do with sarnies in the car, which would have been perfectly adequate, had DB2 not found it fit to decorate the interior of the car in bits of sodden and masticated bread and cheese all over the entire vehicle, not to mention the chewed up remnants of an apple and a pineapple chunk. Mmm. Nice. Another job to add to the list then.
I could go on. It’s just been one of those days. Even wine didn’t offer the magic cure today. It must be serious!