I've been rather preoccupied over the past week, hence the lack of posts. The six word memoir was about as much as I felt I could write, but it seems that has generated far more interest in the blogging world than our normal posts, no? I noticed a major increase in the number of comments on everyone's blogs after that. Keep it going guys, I'm definitely looking forward to reading more.
So my preoccupation with this particular thing seems to have subsided. It's not something I want to go into detail about, but I woke up this morning and felt different - lighter, somehow. The final test came when I got into work this morning and found it was still not really present. I can only assume then that for the most part it is over and done with, and I can get back to feeling like my normal self.
This weekend we finally moved from South East to South West London. I get such a thrill from writing out my post code now. For those back home, class consciousness most definitely exists in the UK, but even more than that, where one lives is quite important in determining certain things about a person. For example, a post code that is viewed as being in a low class area can inspire subtle looks or gestures of disapproval to a point where you become embarrassed to tell people where you live. When we first got here I was oblivious to it. Then I woke up to the fact that people would make all sorts of assumptions about me based on where I lived - even though I'm a saffa and I haven't grown up with this scrutiny. In the greater scheme of things, it's actually not that important and it shouldn't matter. However, this is England and it does matter. So besides all the practical reasons for wanting to move South West, one of the more vapid ones is just to have a place with an "acceptable" post code. Yeah!
Moving was a bitch, as it always is, but we're finally unpacked and settled and ready to enjoy our place properly. It took us most of the weekend. We started straight after work on Friday, just Scarf and I blaring Gwen Stefani and trying to pack and dance at the same time, while the boys went to fetch the van. We got an upgrade on our van, so we managed to fit everything in to do one trip. This turned out to be a lifesaver, as we totally underestimated how much time it would take to load everything up.
On Saturday morning the guys drove the load to our new flat, while Scarf and I stayed behind to clean up. We procrastinated a little too much, mostly because we got distracted by the flapjacks and caramel we'd kept behind for lunch, and we ended up running late. Our landlord knocked on the door 10 minutes early, and the kitchen / lounge area still looked like a bomb had hit it. We had to ask him to give us another 10 minutes, and then, my gosh, you have never seen two people clean so quickly. Think the old leathery lady from There's Something Abount Mary - we were twice as fast! After blitzing the place and doing all the necessary meter readings, we went down to Woolwich Arsehole station for the last time and caught our final South Eastern train away from the dump. On the way to London Bridge, we shared a bottle of wine to celebrate new beginnings. It's very chav, but drinking on trains is allowed here, and especially coming from Woolwich, you could probably shoot up some H in the carriage and people wouldn't bat an eyelid. We were a little tipsy by the time we got to LB, so what happened next might have seemed just a litle funnier than it really was.
We were both carrying quite a few bags, packets and other paraphernalia that couldn't fit in the van. One of my parcels included a sling bag over my left shoulder, and our long handled duster was sticking out it. Scarf and I were standing on the escalator going down to the tube; she was one step lower than me facing backwards, and I was facing forwards. In the UK if you want to stand still on the way down, you stand on the right, leaving a narrow space all the way down the left hand side for people who want to walk down. This is pretty much the law - break it at your peril. Anyway, I couldn't see what was happening behind me, but I figured people would be walking down the left hand side as usual. What I didn't realise was that the handle of the duster was swinging into the path of those walking down. I had turned slightly so that it completely blocked the path of the walkway, and it caught an unsuspecting guy in the crotch as he tried to get past me. It didn't only hit him there.....as I turned towards Scarf to say something, the handle started to fondle him quite vigorously. She could see what was happening, and she said later that the poor guy was desperately trying to bat the duster away so he could continue his way down, and possibly also protect his ruffled balls. But he couldn't get past me, and I didn't realise what was happening, so there we stood in a stalemate: him getting a rather raunchy rub-down from a duster and everybody around us having a good chuckle. Finally Scarf grabbed my arm and spun me around so I could see the chaos I was causing, and that was it for us - we laughed until we cried, and this poor dude just scurried down the escalator as fast as he could go. Even writing this now I am laughing, and have just had to explain to Sammy what is so funny.
We haven't really had much of a weekend, and we're all very tired and a little cranky, but we're also all super excited about this summer in London in SW19. Something tells me it's going to be our best yet.
So my preoccupation with this particular thing seems to have subsided. It's not something I want to go into detail about, but I woke up this morning and felt different - lighter, somehow. The final test came when I got into work this morning and found it was still not really present. I can only assume then that for the most part it is over and done with, and I can get back to feeling like my normal self.
This weekend we finally moved from South East to South West London. I get such a thrill from writing out my post code now. For those back home, class consciousness most definitely exists in the UK, but even more than that, where one lives is quite important in determining certain things about a person. For example, a post code that is viewed as being in a low class area can inspire subtle looks or gestures of disapproval to a point where you become embarrassed to tell people where you live. When we first got here I was oblivious to it. Then I woke up to the fact that people would make all sorts of assumptions about me based on where I lived - even though I'm a saffa and I haven't grown up with this scrutiny. In the greater scheme of things, it's actually not that important and it shouldn't matter. However, this is England and it does matter. So besides all the practical reasons for wanting to move South West, one of the more vapid ones is just to have a place with an "acceptable" post code. Yeah!
Moving was a bitch, as it always is, but we're finally unpacked and settled and ready to enjoy our place properly. It took us most of the weekend. We started straight after work on Friday, just Scarf and I blaring Gwen Stefani and trying to pack and dance at the same time, while the boys went to fetch the van. We got an upgrade on our van, so we managed to fit everything in to do one trip. This turned out to be a lifesaver, as we totally underestimated how much time it would take to load everything up.
On Saturday morning the guys drove the load to our new flat, while Scarf and I stayed behind to clean up. We procrastinated a little too much, mostly because we got distracted by the flapjacks and caramel we'd kept behind for lunch, and we ended up running late. Our landlord knocked on the door 10 minutes early, and the kitchen / lounge area still looked like a bomb had hit it. We had to ask him to give us another 10 minutes, and then, my gosh, you have never seen two people clean so quickly. Think the old leathery lady from There's Something Abount Mary - we were twice as fast! After blitzing the place and doing all the necessary meter readings, we went down to Woolwich Arsehole station for the last time and caught our final South Eastern train away from the dump. On the way to London Bridge, we shared a bottle of wine to celebrate new beginnings. It's very chav, but drinking on trains is allowed here, and especially coming from Woolwich, you could probably shoot up some H in the carriage and people wouldn't bat an eyelid. We were a little tipsy by the time we got to LB, so what happened next might have seemed just a litle funnier than it really was.
We were both carrying quite a few bags, packets and other paraphernalia that couldn't fit in the van. One of my parcels included a sling bag over my left shoulder, and our long handled duster was sticking out it. Scarf and I were standing on the escalator going down to the tube; she was one step lower than me facing backwards, and I was facing forwards. In the UK if you want to stand still on the way down, you stand on the right, leaving a narrow space all the way down the left hand side for people who want to walk down. This is pretty much the law - break it at your peril. Anyway, I couldn't see what was happening behind me, but I figured people would be walking down the left hand side as usual. What I didn't realise was that the handle of the duster was swinging into the path of those walking down. I had turned slightly so that it completely blocked the path of the walkway, and it caught an unsuspecting guy in the crotch as he tried to get past me. It didn't only hit him there.....as I turned towards Scarf to say something, the handle started to fondle him quite vigorously. She could see what was happening, and she said later that the poor guy was desperately trying to bat the duster away so he could continue his way down, and possibly also protect his ruffled balls. But he couldn't get past me, and I didn't realise what was happening, so there we stood in a stalemate: him getting a rather raunchy rub-down from a duster and everybody around us having a good chuckle. Finally Scarf grabbed my arm and spun me around so I could see the chaos I was causing, and that was it for us - we laughed until we cried, and this poor dude just scurried down the escalator as fast as he could go. Even writing this now I am laughing, and have just had to explain to Sammy what is so funny.
We haven't really had much of a weekend, and we're all very tired and a little cranky, but we're also all super excited about this summer in London in SW19. Something tells me it's going to be our best yet.
2 comments:
SW19 baby!
We're going to have lots of fun ;)
SW19?... if you say so ;) enjoy your new place!!
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