And the next move…

I had lots of plans all last week to be organised, to have everything in boxes before my brother and sister-in-law came to help me move on Sunday. They didn’t pan out. 

As you know, I am an absolute election-whore. From the time I woke up on Saturday morning, I was glued to the radio. I listened to tallies and to counts, to commentary and to punditry. I stopped briefly to have a shower, but other than that I listened to election coverage for a good ten hours. I then went to an election party, hosted by a similarly nerdy election-enthusiast friend. There I watched election coverage until 2:00 am, and continued to listen to it in my car till coverage finished at 3:30. Thinking that was that, I went to bed. I didn’t bet on just how nerdy I was though. When in bed, I went on the internet on my phone and spent the next two hours reading through the results I had listened to all day. I finally got to sleep well after 5:00 am. 

The next morning, aware that my family were on the way, I leapt out of bed. I downed a breakfast, mainly consisting of Red Bull and set to packing. By the time my brother and sister-in-law arrived, I wasn’t half ready. 

We spent a couple of hours loading and packing, including bags and bags of pillows, cushions, throws and cuddly toys, boxes of crockery, three bookcases, a thousand or so books, a sizeable DVD collection, bins, basins, buckets and brooms, a sofa-bed, a chest of drawers and an infamous, not to mention unreasonably heavy, filing cabinet. We almost filled the three cars, and set off for Cork. 

After a long drive, having had a stupidly small amount of sleep, I was on the verge of collapse. But of course the first job when we hit Cork was to unload the cars. My bedroom is now literally overflowing. 

Another brief sleep and I was on my way back to Dublin again. After a brief spell in college, I went back to my little cottage. Two more loadings and unloadings of my little car and everything was in my new home. After all this, my arms were falling out of their sockets, I was less than fragrant and my eyelids were finding it difficult to stay open.

I returned to the rundown little cottage for the final time. I was far too tired to get maudlin. I started cleaning. My landlady was due to come and return the deposit and take back my keys at 7:00. At 6:00, I got a panicky phonecall from her. 

Longtime readers of the blog will remember the brisk and brusque letting agent from Co. Mayo from whom I had first rented the cottage. She’s a good friend of my landlady, who was now ringing me in a panic to say that the letting agent had been arrested for drink driving and she had to drive to Galway and rescue her. 

So the landlady couldn’t meet me. She sent “her man”. She always refers to him as “my man” and I was never quite sure if they had a romantic attachment or if he was in some type of servile role, but I was happy to hear someone was coming. 

I waited until, half an hour late, my landlady’s “man” burst through the door and flung €700 at me. He was in a rush. He’d been caught speeding and needed to clear that up. 

I left the keys with a plumber who had come to fix the heating in the back room and I said goodbye to the cottage. I have to admit, it was with unexpected relief that I did so. New life, full steam ahead! 

Having moved all my things from Dublin to Cork in November ’09, back up in April ’10 and back down again in February ’11, I have made a decision. Longtime readers will know that I play fast and loose with decisions, but here I am resolute. Until I’m making a salary of €42,000, my stuff can stay in Cork. 

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