I was telling a story last night about Chris, Marc and a very powerful motorcycle and I couldn’t for the life of me imagine a Mancunian accent let alone emulate it. Some might consider that a great blessing but I found it rather disturbing. Chris, if you read this send a sound bite.
Oh, and the sun’s had a strange effect on Michelle’s hair …
Mel, I will be defining strict rules of engagement before you’re aloud to speak to my wife again.
Quite a lot has happened since last I said I’d blog regularly. Jeremy had a great time in Cape Town and left us on Sunday to join his family in Pretoria for a trip to a game park before flying home to sunny St Albans. It was great to have Jeremy around and see things through a real tourist’s eyes for a bit. Cape Town is a very very beautiful place.
On Sunday evening we signed an offer on a house (which is also very very beautiful) and on Monday morning I started job hunting in earnest to support our property fetish. On Tuesday we got a letter to say that the ship with all our stuff on is arriving on Sunday, not mid-November as we’d expected, and that unless we had our paperwork cleared through customs before then we would be charged demurrage (or some other long word of uncertain meaning). It was with some trepidation that I visited SARS (somewhat unfortunately named South African Revenue Service), but I needn’t have worried: papers were cleared in under ten minutes and I decided to move on to Revenue to let them know I’d returned. That half-hour took us six hours when we arrived in London.
On Wednesday I had an interview with someone who hadn’t even bothered to read my CV, about whom the less said the better. Today I attended a couple of much more useful meetings, about which more if they produce firm leads – things are looking good at the moment. As my youngest brother would say, “I’m feeling encoorijd”.
In between we’ve bought annual passes to the aquarium and the botanical gardens, both of which the girls have visited several times accompanied by one or both of us and the doting grandparents.
Pictures when I have time to leave the machine uploading for an hour or so. This is the narrowest broadband I’ve ever experienced. Perhaps it should be called mid band. Shallow band. Absolutely, definitely better-than-dialup band.
The wireless network is set up, we have mobile phones, the children are sleeping through and we’ve seen four houses (and counting). Time to start blogging again …
SAA might have no legroom whatsoever (and staff who’re evidently trained not to smile until you’re disembarking) but they do have video-on-demand. This covers a multitude of evils. When you have to time your film watching to coincide with little girls sleeping, being able to start a film anytime and then pause it when you need to is immeasurably valuable. Josie slept well; Sophie slept a little but couldn’t get comfortable squeezed between the seat in front and Michelle; I slept for an hour or so in bits; Michelle slept for about ten minutes in 15-second bursts.
We had rather a lot of luggage with us – the taxi was the biggest MPV we could hire with the rear seats down and was absolutely stuffed full. We changed flights in Jo’burg and had the good sense to use a porter to help get us across to domestic departures. He whisked us through the Premier Club check in – evidently just because the line was shorter – without a hitch despite being 40kg overweight on the weigh bridges they have there. We had breakfast (calamari because it felt like dinner time) and caught the next plane.
We found a house we like yesterday. Will it wait for us? Uh dunno but it’d be nice.
Today we’re going in search of formula that doesn’t give Sophie the screaming runs and having dinner tonight with Jeremy-from-St Albans at the Fat Cactus. It’s a beeoootiful day.
I composed a blog on plane at Heathrow waiting for the stragglers to board. It was.a.masterpiece.
Unfortunately when I hit save Orange, South African Airways and Nokia conspired to block my signal and ensure that it never saw the light of day. The only bit I remember clearly is:
Don’t fly SAA if you can avoid there is NO LEGROOM WHATSOEVER.
I’m sitting with Sophie watching the sun rise over Bloxham. It’s been a busy few days.
On Wednesday the removal company managed to get a container parked outside the house and load it with all our stuff. On Tuesday they’d thought they might need to ferry the stuff to the truck parked somewhere else. I missed it all because I was at work; Michelle, as you would expect, did an excellent job of directing operations despite having had a late (great) night out with her friends on Tuesday.
When it was all done we showed the girls around the house and played with echoes. Josie’s comment when she’d looked inside the container earlier in the day was, “But Mummy, a boat will sink if you put that on it.” The pictures of cargo ships on the ‘net obviously hadn’t conveyed an appropriate sense of scale. We went to Wagamamas and then drove to Phoe and Nin’s for the night. The girls were fast asleep by the time we got there. It was the first time Josie hasn’t woken being carried up to bed.
On Thursday what we thought would be a three-hour clean-up of the house took until 6pm. We also dropped off the car with the new owners and picked up a hire car (which is nice). We ate at the ShinyShowShop (Josie’s rendition of Chinese), where they treated us because it was our last time, and headed back to Phoe and Nin’s.
Yesterday we finally got the girls’ travel documents from the Royal Mail depot. It is a comfort to know that we’ll get them into the country legitimately. I’d begun steeling myself for the interview rooms at Jo’burg International Airport. In the afternoon we drove to the Schonkens and got the call from our Solicitor on the way to let us know our house sale had completed.
So here we are, languishing with our friends – well, sort of languishing, Josie eventually went to sleep last night at about 10.30 but is, fortunately, still asleep now. It feels good to be able to start unwinding. I believe we’re going shopping today, so I should probably make the most of the peace while it lasts!
We’ve taken a few pics over the last few days when we’ve remembered and will post them soon.
I have consumed my last latte and commuted my last commute (for a little while at least). Now all we have to do is move …
On Monday someone from the consular section of the South African Embassy phoned Michelle to let her know that the girls’ travel documents were ready: would we like him to post them to us or would we like to come and collect them? Michelle weighed things carefully in her mind:
“We’ll come and fetch them please.”
The appointment was for between 3 and 4 today, so after doing the farewell speaching thing (which I enjoyed, although I was terribly terribly tempted to ramble on indefinitely just to see if people stayed to listen) and having had a final lunch with my team I headed off to the Consular Section.
Now you need to understand the depth of angst I feel about dealing with the Consulate. In my mind they are absolutely in the same class as pedlars of computer equipment and cheap suits. They have a simple product – one I understand completely – but they feel obligated to behave as though they’re practicing a dark art. In the case of Consular operations my feelings stem from a holiday trip in the course of which my family were turned back again and again from the (figment of the apartheid imagination) border control between the Transkei and the Eastern Cape. Some fat, half-witted child of the regime took a dislike for whatever reason and just wouldn’t let us through, sending us 100 miles home each time to fetch other documents. I remember the impotent rage of the experience and realising that they can do pretty much whatever they want – to help or hinder – provided there is a scrap of a reason to do so. Just like pedlars of computer equipment and cheap suits.
My feelings are doubtless unfounded in this modern age – the regime has crumbled and been replaced with a well-oiled bureaucracy. It may be a glistening machine gorging itself on an economy trying valiantly to support it, but at least it’s staffed by people who seem to want to be there. That earlier border post was probably the South African Customs Services equivalent of a posting to Siberia …
Anyhoo … back to the story. I duly queue up on Whitehall, wondering what would transpire and swapping stories with other queuers. The consensus, if you’re interested, seems to be that the best way to contact the consulate is to fax them your mobile number with your query. They don’t seem to answer the phones and don’t respond to email. Eventually it was my turn:
“Hello, I’ve come to pick up emergency travel documents for my daughters. My name’s Adlard.”
“Just a moment, sir. Adlard, adlard, adlard …” [fades into distance]
[eventually returns]”Mr Adlard!”
“Yes?”
[Lo-o-o-ong pause while my palms sweat and he concentrates on carefully cutting out a section from a piece of paper with a very large pair of scissors.]
“Your papers were posted yesterday. Here are your tracking numbers. You understand I can’t give you the whole piece of paper because it has other people’s names on it.”
It took me about a quarter of a second to process the “Is it worth making a fuss about this?” question. I winked at him and said, “Thank you!” with a smile on my face. I hope I made his day.
The very best thing about moving is Josie counting down the days:
“Is it one day left Daddy?”
“No Josie, today’s the day the packers come. Tomorrow they’ll load the boxes into a lorry to take to the ship and we’ll go and visit our friends.”
“And then we’ll go?!”
“That’s right. But where are we going?”
“To Africa” she says, with a twinkle in her eye.
The packers have been in today. The place looked like a bomb had hit it. Those of you who’ve visited will know that the house is always pristine … Englishmen, homes and castles being what they are … yes, OK, three things we know very little about … anyway, we’ve been spending quite a lot of energy sorting out what stays and what goes and precisely how each of them does their allocated aforementioned. This evidently leaves some detritus, so it was with just a twingle of embarassment that I let the three pukka packers in. Usually I avoid this kind of embarassment by not letting anyone in without a warrant.
They were terrific. In a couple of hours the place looked almost tidy. MGW has been saying since we moved in that we need storage boxes so that everything has a place. I think she might have been onto something there … . Anyway. They’d been working as a team for some time and the lead chap had been doing it for 6 or 7 years. He must have started when he was fourteen.
I have a certain respect for people who enjoy doing similar things for long periods of time. I have come across many people ranging from strategists to packers (now) who do that. I can’t. Tomorrow is my last day (despite Ben’s rather enthusiastic exclamation last Thursday) with my current employer. I will have been there 34 months, which is the longest I have worked anywhere, let alone on one programme. I’ve stayed because the people are fantastic and I’ve been allowed to pursue opportunities to develop the business in ways that I find challenging and rewarding. I’m leaving because I began with a set of objectives and a timeframe in mind, both of which have run their course. I’ll remember my time there fondly.
I don’t know why, but whenever I write that I have to wonder who it is I’ll be fondling when I do my remembering. What kind of a word is “fondly”, anyway?
We said farewell to the Coxes this weekend just past. They came to stay with us from Friday evening and we had a great time – although we were somewhat distracted by pressures of moving. Mark and I and the two “big” girls ran loads of stuff to the charity shop. Mark suggested I ring them first:
“Hello. I’ve got a couple of car-loads of stuff to bring around.”
“Is it car boot stuff?”
“Ummmm. Well, what’s car boot stuff and what isn’t?”
“Harrummpf. [long pause]Car boot stuff is stuff you’ve tried to sell at a car boot sale and it didn’t sell and now you want to drop it on me.”
“Oh. Then no, it’s not car boot stuff. We’re moving next week.”
“OH! You’re moving. Bring it over; we’ll take the bad with the good if you’re moving …”
Josie and Elspeth played beautifully together. It was very difficult to say goodbye. I’m sure we’ll make other friends on our travels but I don’t think we’ll make any better ones.
We now have the dubious honour of having held yard sales on two continents. It was quite a spectacle, as evidenced by the men watching from the boom of a nearby crane, purpose-built of course. It was a fun day – the girls had a great time playing with all the stuff on the forecourt all day. We sold about a third of the stuff I guess, so marginally better off than going to a car boot sale.
3.5 days left at work now. The movers will be in a week tomorrow!
Josie got her first bike at a car boot sale on Sunday. Needless to say, she’s been riding quite a bit over the last couple of days. Best of all the bike will disappear into a container in a couple of weeks to reappear just in time to be a Christmas present.
We shifted an immense amount of junk this weekend. The garage and the shed are done and we’re making inroads into the loft. We filled a 6-yard skip over the weekend and we’ve got more listings on eBay than we’ve ever had before. The plan is to eBay all we can this week then garage sale next Sunday … hope it all goes!