Spoiled Rotten

Mum needs to come back quickly from her hols with Diamond in Poros, Greece, to rescue us from being spoiled rotten. Dad, on his own tends to cook as if Mum were still about, so there's generally plenty left over to get mixed in with our supper. Tonight we are having the usual 'Butcher's Tripe' dog meat with added liver, bacon and onion gravy, the gravy being made with chicken stock out of the freezer rather than water (Dad is valiantly trying to empty the freezer by completion date!). He may also be allowing us to sleep upstairs with him but I better not say that as there will probably be killin's when Mum gets back over it.

Today we play host to removal company boss, Mr Dempsey who comes to assess the load and discuss storage requirements between our move-out-of-this-house date and our actual move to Ireland. He arrives in a very smartly restored 1950's Morris. It's like a stretched Moggy Minor with a 6-cylinder engine and Dad thinks the shape was later used by Wolseley. It's in a fetching pale green and Dad, inevitably, gets to look under the bonnet (It's an old bloke, old cars thang).

Mr Dempsey strolls about, taking copious notes and chatting away in an Irish accent to die for (Wexford, maybe) accepts a shopping bag full of allotment onions and then departs, promising to phone us with a price on Monday by which time, we all note, we'd have a job finding someone else if it's a bit pricey. No fools, these removal guys, especially in a bad recession. He tells us that in the boom times, when everyone was moving back to Ireland, he was making 2-3 trips over per week with the big 'wagon and drag' pantechnicon (which would fit 2-3 houses worth of stuff inside). Now he's down to a 'rigid' lorry (not an artic, no trailer) and a trip a week if he's lucky. He'll take our stuff but wait to make the run till he has another lump of furniture to make up the load.

Ruinned Bruin
Deefs