Diary of an up and coming sociopath

We spent most of today cleaning up the house and packing up our stuff. It’s almost all done by now, and I expect I’ll comfortably get everything home. The cleaning was primarily to prepare the house for the impending inventory. The first inventory, taken when we moved in, involved some guy walking around every room of the house and writing such insightful comments as “pencil marks on door” and “3 marks on walls.” Imagine, then, our surprise, when a man we could loosely categorise as “a hobo” turned up to do the inventory this time. He stank of beer and cigarettes, and just kind of followed us around the house looking confused, ticking boxes seemingly at random. Apparantly, we passed with flying colours, which means that in about 8 weeks we might get a deposit back, or something, though there’s still time to be gouged.

We should’ve realised things weren’t going to go well when Isis phoned us in the early morning and requested that we allow the inventory to be pushed back an hour because they couldn’t fit us in. I pointed out we had people here who had driven for hours to get here and who wanted to get back as soon as possible, and it was suggested that we have the inventory on another day then, which kind of misses the point entirely. If there’s one thing Isis can be relied upon, it’s to totally miss the point.

We got it done, though. Sure, the back wall of the kitchen is a different shade of yellow to the rest of the room, and sure, there are some suspicious looking marks where we pulled the paint off the skirting board by accident and painted over it, but generally speaking we’ve left the house in a condition far better than we got it in.

Yesterday, I finally bought the pixies tickets. Cost £120 for 2, and the plan is to keep 1 and sell the other, and the one I keep will be my birthday present off Mum. At least the turmoil is over. The tickets should be arriving at home tomorrow, so finger’s crossed. Of course, after winning the tickets on eBay, I was then rewarding through the medium of scrubbing the toilet. Quite the fall from grace.

Part of the cleaning process involves chucking stuff out. People keep saying that moving out of the house is the end of an era, but I’m not so sure, to me it was no different from halls, in the “home” sense. One could more insightfully label the disposal of my first ever saucepan the end of an era, since /that/s sentiment. That saucepan hung on by a thread for the last few months (the handle of it, I mean) and having finally cast it into the garbage, it truly heralds a new era of saucepan ownage. I should get upgraded versions. Tangentally, it also marks the first partial set of saucepans I’ll ever own, since the one I chucked away also had two pan-brothers, of differing sizes, which now represent two thirds of a set. I remember quite vividly that, over the years, we never seemed to have a full set of pans at home, just the intact parts of other sets, so now it feels correct to have an incomplete set of my own.

Reading this back, I’m reminded that cleaning is terribly boring. It seems all I’ve had to talk about this week has been cleaning, pixies tickets, and the total embargo on any information regarding that job I was interviewed for. Here, I’ll stick a link in. Photos of Relly’s wedding, which you may remember me attending. I can be seen looking like a total moron, wearing a shirt, in at least two pictures. One is me, with Nikki, and is the better of the two, and in the other I am entertaining two of the non-girlfriend bridesmaids with my dry wit and total lack of enthusiasm for dancing, though when the photo was taken my eyes were closed, so that ruined the effect and I look like I’m really pleased to be seeing the inside of my own eyelids or something. Did I mention how unsporting I think cameras are?