The particulars have been signed, and the mortgage company have approved the letting. A good proportion of our recent weekends have been spent trekking up and down the A12 going to make my two-bedroom flat in Ipswich ready for renting. It’s been ongoing since September when I moved to Chelmsford, and has, at times, seemed almost never ending. I hadn’t realised how many belongings I’d accumulated over the years until it was too late.
No matter now, though, as everything that was worth keeping to either keep or sell to buyers of on-line auctions has been moved down, and at last, I think the flat is ready to give a warm welcome to a new keeper. Providing the heating keeps up its good service that is. A couple of little jobs need doing, but the place looks welcoming, tidy, and clean, and the new bed and kitchen table and chairs suit the rooms in which they sit. So, now that should be it.
Yes, the pile of magazines in the dining room in the house are going down slower than I’d like (18 years’ worth of motoring titles is an endless stream when you’re moving them), and the spare bedroom is once again full – even after we emptied it just before our Christmas visitors – but we’ll get there. Moving car loads of belongings 40 miles down the A12 so many times that we lost count has meant that we haven’t been able to spend time sorting out the stuff brought down on previous trips.
The journey back from IKEA with the new furniture won’t be forgotten in a hurry. On 31 January, Andrew and Sheila offered to pick up and transport the new spare bedroom bed and table and chairs from Thurrock to Ipswich. Almost all of it went into Andrew’s load-swallowing Laguna, but the mattress on the roof acted as some sort of monstrous flapping spoiler, and was buffeted by the wind so much that no matter how much rope tied it to the roof rack (or secured it by gloved hands through the sunroof), it kept trying to lift both it and the car off the ground.
Rather cheekily, we had the easy bit, and went on ahead, meeting mum and Bart at the place I’ve called home for almost three years. Mum set about cleaning, while we found more things for the tip and home, ready to load up a car for the return journey. Bart sat and read his paper. A flurry of activity ensued when Andrew and Sheila arrived, as Nik, mum, and Sheila built the table and chairs, while Andrew and I wielded screwdrivers and made up the new bed. Bart sat and read his paper.
The weekend after we made a final trip to clear out any remaining rubbish, recycle yet more magazines, give the place a last clean, and make good any unswept leaves in the rented garage. Now it’s all done, though, we might just be able to claim weekends as our own again. It was a little strange standing in the largely empty 1930s place that I’ve called home since 2006, but then it hasn’t felt like that for a while. I’m in a better place now, and it’s time for someone else to enjoy the flat’s large, airy, and bright rooms. Fingers crossed.
…and Bart read his paper!!!!