Tis the season to be…Bah Humbug!

Two weeks since I last posted one of these and I’d love to be updating with news of significant progress on the house, or even an imminent moving date, but I can’t.

The builder continues to be impossible to pin down, claiming all sorts of reasons why not much progress has been made – enough that I may dedicate a future blog to the carefully crafted excuses of the buildering trade … I’ve spent so much on the renovations so far I could have purchased a small flat instead…. We’ve fired the solicitor who was acting on The Parents behalf for the boundary dispute, and hired one who actually seems to know what he’s doing. The more we review the advice given by the previous the more we’re convinced he just bluffed his way through the last 13 months, not really knowing what he was doing but still billing extortionate amounts along the way. My updated ‘To Do’ list over the Christmas period (other than eat too much of course) now includes research into how you successfully file a complaint with a solicitor, and drafting the said complaint…

Talking of Christmas it was very nearly put on hold in the Ingleson households this year. Our hearts had been so set on spending Christmas in Devon – we were planning to host family and friends, enjoy traditional festive events such as eating too much, drinking at inappropriate times of the day, a Christmas Eve trip to the village pub, bracing walks in the Devonshire countryside and along the Jurassic coastline, plus of course the all round favourite – family bickering. But no, thanks to the snail speed of my builders it’s going to be Swindon again this year.

Such is the disappointment The Parents informed me Christmas was on hold until we moved, and they wanted to spend the day at home on their own. Just them, the dog and the cat*. I was told to make my own plans. Plans I promptly assembled involving my friend Lisa friend ,who is feeling equally bah humbug this year, a curry house at midday and an evening of champagne and generally scrumptious food. That is until a good friend instructed me and The Parents we were to stop acting like a family of Grinch’s, and that the four of us were to come to his pub for Christmas lunch and celebrate properly.

The curry may be cancelled but the plans to spend the evening drinking champers, and generally scoffing, aren’t being changed for anyone.

A big thanks you to our lovely friend Michael Sheridan who invited us to join him for Christmas Lunch at his pub The Plough on The Hill.

*This pretty much confirms what I’ve always thought – the dogs and cat are now their surrogate children, the company of whom they prefer to their own offspring (but maybe that’s because they’re less demanding, and generally easier to be around?).

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