Another morning, another school run, another round of fifty questions of "Any news? Got your moving date yet? Have you heard anything from the school?" Nay, nay and thrice nay. Fifty times nay, more like. (I'm not bitching, they are all nice people. I am just sick of saying that there's no bloody news, again and again, arrrrrrggh.)
So no. No news. Contract arrived yesterday along with fifty pages of stuff related to the searches which is taking ages to plough through, and various forms we have to fill in. Guess what. We won't be exchanging this week after all. I feel like running up and down screaming, to be honest, but will hold back, due to napping two-year-old in close proximity.
Bizarrely, I am being comforted by my 1996 diary that I mentioned the other day. I am really enjoying reading it, remembering all those places I went to and all the people I met. I've got up to Java now, having survived a dog bite, motorbike crash, mashed-up Full Moon Party, a tit-grabbing perv, temples, mountains, sunrises on beaches, new friends, weirdos, drunken snogs and the shits. I have made it through Thailand, Malaysia and Singapore, and have just been to see a volcano in Java. If I lived to tell the tale(s) of the south-east Asia experience, surely I can get through this moving house malarkey. Can't I?
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