The girl who cried wolf

There have been so many false starts around my move to Devon that if it wasn’t for the endless bills, monthly mortgage payments, rapidly dwindling bank account and ever increasing stress I’d be convinced the whole thing was nothing more than a figment of my over-active imagination. I’ve had so many leaving meals and goodbyes I’m starting to feel  a fraud, as I never actually go.

Just last week I was definitely going to be moving into the Devon house on 10 March. It was tight but it was achievable. The transport for the horses was booked, and the waking up in the middle of the night had begun in earnest. It was all planned; me and the horses time to settle in before The Parents followed a few weeks later during a scheduled break in my dads chemo treatments.

Then along came the ‘Beast From the East’ and Storm Emma, both ensuring the house was sufficiently cut off and no work could be done. This was promptly followed by one of my key team – a general builder who can turn his hand to anything from plastering to brickwork – announcing he’d got another job and was off. Then the discovery that a family of mice had decided, if I wasn’t going to move in, they would, my water metre springing a leak and the wall tiles in one of the bathrooms having to be re-fitted as the adhesive hadn’t set properly.

The ‘definitely moving on 10th has now become ‘definitely not moving’, and as my list of first world problems continues to grow I’m left wondering if I’m ever going to move, or maybe I’m cursed to stay in Swindon for the rest of my life? I also think my friend, who has been kind enough to put me up since I moved out of my Swindon place last month, is beginning to have the same concerns.

Add all of that that to how ridiculously busy the day job is it’s fair to say I’m not the most positive person to be around at the moment. And I’m pretty sure that’s come across in this update – sorry! I’ll try harder next time.


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