There’s a scum on my decking what am I gonna do?

It’s been a bit of a busy week.  During the week, work took me to Newcastle on Friday.  I was viewing office space and potential staff members for what will be the North Eastern part of our empire.  Both elements were successful, and with the opening of that office in a few weeks, I’ll be spending at least a day a week up there.  It could be worse of course, it could be Central London!

In other news, we have had an actual viewer for the house.  You may have forgotten that we are up for sale, as we’ve had absolutely no news at all in that regard for many weeks.  Not only have we had one viewing, they only went and came back today for a second one!  Never in the history of Williams kind has our house been as tidy as it was on those occasions.  They seem keen enough, asking lots of probing questions, and no doubt noticing all those things that we really should have upgraded, replaced, painted or improved, but we instead went on holiday.

I showed them the holiday pictures instead, so we’ll see if that helps!

Who knows what happens now.  We await a call from the agent to justify their football agent style fee tomorrow.

The second view was to be in broad daylight, and this meant they would be able to see the full horror of the back garden, which no human has set foot in since about October last year.  Drastic measures were called for, and so my Saturday was taken up by blasting scum off the decking.  It took an age and all the use from my right hand (from trigger pulling on the jet wash….get your mind out of the gutter!) to get the decking to state where you don’t have to wear ice skates to make it across in one piece.  It does tend to get a little mossy after six months of shite weather.

I even debarricaded the outdoor furniture from beneath the winter coat of tarpaulin and gave that a jet wash within an inch of its life.  By Sunday, and that all important second visit, our outside space looked almost like something from a house where someone hasn’t pissed away every spare penny on flights, villas and food.  It was almost worth the agony and stiffness I am enduring today.

On a more pleasant note, Saturday evening saw us out on the tiles.  We were at a family do to celebrate my niece’s 21st birthday.  This fact has officially confirmed that I am now 97 years old.  I was 20 when she was born, and at the party last night, my brother and sister-in-law had laid out lots of old photos of Sarah, which I thought were taken yesterday, but it would appear that is not the case.

Prep for the party started at around 4pm in our house, and looked like this.  I joined in with about twelve minutes to go before departure.

and resulted in this….

We had a really lovely evening, and Sarah was overcome by her present which was a trip to New York for her and her boyfriend.  This was presented in a lovely speech from her Mum that even had Emily and Rebecca in tears at the end.

We sloped off at 12.30, tired and full of Guinness (that last bit might just have been me) but I believe the festivities went on until 4.30am!!  When we did leave, we were carrying, high above our heads, the glorious prizes, and smug satisfaction only awarded to those who win the quiz. A quiz fittingly all about 1991 was held, and our team won.  I say team, I more or less single-handedly defeated all comers, mainly as I knew what was Number One on the day of Sarah’s birth.  (Chesney Hawkes, in case you were wondering).  Nothing improves an evening more than the sweet smell of victory, and the easter eggs awarded as prizes.

The other major news this week is that Louise has resigned from her job.  I know, I know.  How anyone could give up a job that involves handling boobs all day is a mystery, but she has had enough of it.  She leaves in four weeks to return to University to train to be a nurse.  This of course has been on the cards for some time, but under wraps until her place on the course, and the informing of work were done.  This dear readers is the one of the reasons why we shall not be jetting off to anywhere close to Florida this year, unless my balls drop.  Lottery, not the twins.

Today, once our viewing was done, has been a relaxed affair as we are all feeling the effects, to varying degrees of last night and a very busy weekend of chores.  I popped round to my Mum’s with present and card, returned home to watch half of The Help (Louise’s mother’s day gift “from the girls”) some footy, and then prepared and ate one of the largest Sunday roasts known to man.  I sit typing this now, in the discomfort and glow of an overly full stomach, and the mild concern that with all that Guinness and today’s eating, I’ll be attending work with my shirt unbuttoned to the waist to avoid discomfort.

So, who knows what the coming days will bring.  An offer on the house?  Maybe.  The start of the living hell of actually then having to move house.  Who knows?  The need to diet to avoid the next notch on the belt?  Absolutely!!

Whatever it is, I’ll waffle about it here so…

Till the next time…..