I simply cannot face cleaning this accursed black filth right now, so instead I have a bottle of red wine and a glass which will help propel me to type on my paint-stained laptop about the previous couple of weeks. I am going to utilise the "bold" effect during this entry, and may also try out "italics". One of the following, for your information, is a deliberate falsehood, so see if you can correctly guess. Prizes: dinner and hotel for two* (for girls), hearty congratulations (for boys).
This is what has been taking up most of my time. Mainly, I've been cracking on with the flat I'm living in, that has been photographed here. An amazing transformation has occurred, only to be suddenly covered in piles of black dirt. The kitchen - papered, painted, cleaned to loveliness. The second bedroom - walls fixed, papered, painted, skirting boards mended, carpet laid. The bathroom - retiled. The living room - papered, and painted (ongoing). The place is less than a week's worth of work away from being finished and ready to rent out.
Alas, today I had an attic hatch put in, which involved cutting a big hole in the hallway ceiling, which unleashed thick clouds of black dust, which has covered carpets and inserted into every small crevice. When in contact with water, it turns into a viscous, nasty sludge. This is going to result in a turgid day of cleaning tomorrow. Where's a lady when you need one?
More exciting than all this home improvements, is the home purchasing. I bought a new flat last week, pending a survey, and possibly have another one on the cards. Talking to my mortgage advisor today, I might even be able sneak another also, which could mean I have five by the end of the year. This is very exciting, and though involves a lot of work, is something I'd relish.
The flat I've got I'm also relishing. It's much bigger than what I usually look at, with two large double bedrooms, a huge lounge, and a dining kitchen easily able to fit at least two sofas in, plus too a floored and windowed loft (I love lofts) which is bigger than any room in my current flat. It needs some serious renovation overall, but that's precisely what I enjoy doing, and if I wasn't involved with painting, wiring, fixing etc, I'd be wasted on drink and drugs and tottering around harbour bars at 7am.
What a bloody pain in the hoop my car has become. Some day I'll go into a history of all my previous cars, four before this one, none costing over £250 and the grand total of all five being £870. My current one matched the record of car no.1 and no.2 at being £250. And it shows. It broke down in grand style last week, after weeks of odd splutters and chugs, in B&Q. I just left it there, but two days later returned, and to my surprise, found it alive. Alive, but not well. A horrendous roar was being emitted, that made all the B&Q shoppers turn their heads in middle-aged disapproval, and I realised it was time to visit the garage. Carefully manouevering my shuddering, juddering, thundering vehicle, I aimed garagewards. I made it as far as a roundabout, a busy one, on a right turn, where my car gave up, and decided to give me to the heavens also; but then mercy was taken and with one final splutter the car heaved round the roundabout and I got just enough momentum before its final cranking gasp to cruise into a weird modern suburb full of people peeking through their blinds.
Anyway, the breakdown services were called, I was taken to a garage, and I don't want to record here what repairs cost. But they were more than the car.
I'm going to the Faroes Islands on Friday, for a holiday. I've only just started to think about it, and have realised that I am an idiot. The Faroe Islands? 2C, raining, and 24-hour daylight (I hesistate to use the word "sunlight"). I blame this all on Green and Varwell, two fellow blogsters, whose idea I'm sure this was. What on earth am I going to do in the Faroes? It's just like the Shetlands, except Danish, and colder. I can only imagine I made this decision while abroad, working, and so was therefore emotionally fragile.
There are, it seems, two football games on in the Faroes then, which we still don't really have tickets for, and Simon is bringing a bottle of whisky, and the capital city is called something like Torsvahn, but that's the limits of my Faroes knowledge. Oh, and everything is really expensive. Thank God I'm so rich.
I am engaged to be married, after a whirlwind romance, details of which I don't want to put here. Except: MASSIVE BOOBS!
Since Nigeria, I've been home in Aberdeen, a very rare few weeks free from being away on work. Hence the progress in the flats. This is because of my good timing of returning from a job a few weeks before my booked holidays, meaning there wasn't enough time to send me somewhere else. However, for over a week I was dragged onto base to piss about doing absolutely nothing, that frustrated the hell out of me as I had so much other, better stuff to do. Especially as it was then that my spastic car broke down, meaning that I had to use the no. 27 bus. It's gone up by 20p.
I did negotiate myself a pay rise though, which was nice. But my cognac colleague quit! It was because he was facing his third disciplinary for causing trouble, so he packed it in.
I am useless at poker right now.
* Needless to say, I am one.