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Brighton

Right, so I went to Brighton yesterday (meaning Wednesday). That’s the moving situation. I’ve decided that, as Brighton is just 40 minutes away from London (the city centre) on the train, the air is a hell of a lot cleaner, and most importantly, you can rent quite nice places for about the same as you can get squalid dumps in most of London… that’s where I’m gonna relocate to.

The irony is that this is where mom and I planned to move to. We were still talking about this a year ago. It was roughly a year ago that mom started to show symptoms that led to a grim diagnosis and the end of her life. That’s been on my mind a fair bit, for obvious reasons, but I’m trying to not let it get me too down.

I do like Brighton, anyway. The seafront’s a major attraction, and as it’s not all that large, you’re never too far away from anything. I have to go into the city from here if, say, I want to browse a large music store… the only local option is a tiny HMV in Wimbledon. Yeah, Wimbledon turned out to be much smaller and less impressive than initial impressions suggested. :-/
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To Move or Not?

Okay… one more stab before making a final decision on whether to move from here.

I’ve had problems finding someone to share this place. There were a couple of possibilities, but ultimately they wanted somewhere cheaper and nearer the city centre. (Bit of a contradiction in terms, that, unless you want to live in a complete dump. The centre is only a 25-min tube ride away anyway.) The other problem is that I’m a bit ‘funny’ about who I’d share with.

Absolutely no religious nutters, no crack addicts or hookers, no Nazis. Etc. I don’t suppose those objections are so unusual, thinking about it. 😉 But no doubt I can be cranky and eccentric sometimes, which isn’t to everyone’s liking. And I’m quite nocturnal more often than not.
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House Move Stuff

So, Wednesday last week (the 4th), I viewed the new home for a final time before the actual move. I snapped a bit of local scenery, including this shot from by the front path of the house:

View From New House October 4 2006

On the moving day itself, after the van was packed, we had some final snaps outside the old place. This is me, Paul and my former next-door neighbour Lawry (who helped with packing; if you’re reading this, hi!)…
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I’m Here! I’m Here!

Urgh. Right, well, yes, I really did move on Friday. Not a joke, not an imaginary story! And right now the general feeling is… tired.

In theory, someone is coming in to fix the kitchen sink in the morning. Yup, an almost-perfect home has to have a fatal flaw, and this time it was a totally fucked-up sink. Guess it could be worse, but it’s been a right nuisance!
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Phew

Just back from London again. I know, I know, it all seemed sorted out last time I wrote, but the truth is, I put a holding deposit on the Streatham Common place out of something like desperation. On reflection, it became clear to me that I simply don’t like Streatham very much (it’s far too bloody similar to round here, if you want the truth) and the place itself was a wee bit minging. Not terrible, but not to my liking. The open-plan downstairs was a negative, for me, and we won’t mention the state of the mattress in one of the bedrooms… (No, really, don’t ask.)

Today, Paul and I looked at another place just round the corner from this one. It was actually a bit better, and slightly cheaper, but the advantages were negated by it being right on top of a primary school as well as having severe fencing problems in the back garden… and the bathroom was a fucking disgrace. *sigh*
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Der Fuehrer Sez Jump!

I was talking to mom about this New Deal stuff earlier, and in particular having a moan about how I felt misled, i.e. that this work placement would be waged, etc. She said: ‘Well, they’ll do anything to get you on these things. They’re just doing what Mein Fuehrer says.’

(Mein Fuehrer probably meant Tony Blair. I didn’t bother asking.)
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I Must Be Serious

I do watch sport occasionally. Just not football. Football is the work of the Devil. (If you’re American: I mean soccer.) Mostly it’s athletics or tennis I tolerate fairly well.

So Tim Henman’s into the second week of Wimbledon. Again. Will he actually make it through to the final this time? I think, probably not. Having said that, this tendency to slag him off because he’s never won does piss me off a bit. I mean, let’s bear in mind the stream of no-hopers (at least in the men’s game) England has produced, like, for as long as I’ve been alive, pretty much. Tim’s track record is incredibly consistent and creditable.
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