I’m in a strange place just now.
My work has almost finished here, and I am starting afresh up in London, hopefully working with some nice new people there. My manuscript is soon going to be with an agent. We’ve finally been able arrange the move out date and the move in date. We’ve organised a short break in between the houses, and we’ve bought our tickets for a summer break in Åland.
Pretzel, the Labrador, is getting better and driving us all mad with his bull-in-the-china-shop collar which he knocks against our bare legs, against the wall, against the furniture. He’s feeling so much better that he keeps escaping to his soon to be new home, the farm at end of the lane. Jerry, our Border terrier, has been stripped and looks lovely, and even better, smells nice, ready for his new life in town.
We’re placed the order for the removals firm, dealt with the electric and water people. All that remains now is to do the packing. And even that we are nearly finished with thanks to the works earlier in the year where we had to move out of the house into the sauna cottage. And also largely thanks to the skip that still stands behind the trees in the garden, slowly being filled with all the rubbish we’ve accumulated over the years.
So there’s this odd lull in the proceedings. A time when I keep thinking I should be doing something. Of course as usual I have an ambitious ‘things to do list’. The manuscript is taking far longer to edit than I thought (they ALWAYS do and I NEVER remember this). I have some accountancy work to finish. I have to organise mobile contracts, car leases, dog beds, parking permits, scan this or that document, send this or that email.
Still, I keep wondering how everything can be so very calm here in the house. It’s as if there’s a storm brewing…