shaken but not stirred

dear readers, i apologise for my absence from these parts in recent days. life has been full of action, with little time to ponder. the first thing i must tell you is that the peeps have finally exchanged contracts. we are due to move on thursday. there is a palpable feeling of positive energy in our house. a man dropped off a huge number of boxes on friday night and packing is under way in earnest.

friday was a full day in many ways. not only was the magical exchange of contracts achieved, much to the relief not only of the peeps but also herself's erstwhile colleague patrick. this brave man has had the unfortunate honour of dealing with the conveyancing. why the poor chap accepted this mission is beyond me. he has had herself as a client before. dealing with herself is always a roller-coaster ride. when the peeps moved into their last house the poor unfortunate colleague who dealt with the conveyancing on that occasion ended up re-negotiating a clause on the keeping of domestic fowl with a lawyer on the other side who was trying to deal with the insolvency of a company that built motorway service stations. needless to say, the aptly-named "chicken clause" took up far more time than the multi-million pound company. when herself said that she must be the worst client patrick had ever had, he gallantly replied that she was probably only the second-worst client he had ever had. not what you would call a glowing reference. "not quite the worst client patrick ever had" wouldn't look so great on her cv.

as well as matters of the house, the peeps were invited out for the evening to a james bond party. negotiations with my boy resulted in herself being kitted out with sunglasses and a gun which he described as a mini-uzi. her days of mini-skirts are alas, lost in the annals of history, so she must content herself with mini-machine guns instead. my boy was deposited with the friends on the corner.

it would appear that a great evening was had by the peeps. himself tires easily so they left early and the friends on the corner opened a bottle of real champagne (as opposed to lidl's finest cava which passes for fizz chez nous). a toast was raised to the move, the new house and a fresh start. and to good friends. without the friends on the corner the peeps would not have got through the last few months.

my boy came home smelling very interesting. it would appear that this was because he had been holding a little crittur called jim on his lap.



jim is by all accounts a guinea pig. my boy was prompted, by the champagne and the lateness of the hour, to his usual philosophical musings.

"you can tell guinea pigs are prey," he said, "because their eyes are on the side of their heads." a discussion followed about predators and prey and the relative positions eyes needed to be in to look out for hungry tigers or to judge position for a pounce.

"thomas the tank engine is a predator," concluded my boy, pointing at the train track of the younger members of their hosts' family, "his eyes are on the front."

the excitement carried on yesterday, when himself, uncle martin and two friends went to a place called wemberley to see portsmouth play. himself and uncle martin are avid portsmouth fans. at the last home match herself arranged for the announcer to thank uncle martin for being so kind about the kidney, over the tannoy. uncle martin was probably the only person in the crowd who did not hear this. he was probably asleep. but its the thought that counts, as herself always says. anyway, portsmouth won the match and are now going to be in the cup final. so another trip to wemberley is planned in may. hopefully this will not coincide with the kidney op. i fear that neither brother would be up for sitting in a hospital bed watching the cup final on telly...