Episode 74. In which we hire a carpet cleaner.

Today we’ve got a proper carpet cleaner, to make sure that we give back our old flat nice and clean, as a good tenant should.  It all sounded like great fun until we actually turned it on, at which point it became a bit scary and “yes, the carpet will be clean, but what are the possible downsides to this?

It’s going fine, don’t get me wrong, My Man’s done the bedroom and it’s drying right now.  It’s just a bit serious, put this much of this liquid in, spray that liquid on the carpet and leave it for ten minutes, mix that much water at no hotter than that temperature in with this liquid and then put your hand on this trigger and so on and so on.  Basically, just begging for me to go and do something idiotic.

While we were doing this Henry appeared outside the back door.  We let him out at the new flat quite soon because he doesn’t explore far, I mean he will do but to start with he stayed in the courtyard, then he strayed up the stairs a bit, then he went into the upstairs garden but always where he could see us, and now he’s exploring around the place.  I think he must’ve heard me or something in the old flat because I looked out the window at one point and he was sitting by the back door staring at me.  He may think he’s been bodysnatched, after all how else can he explain there being a me and My Man at the new place, and also a me and My Man at the new place?  I eventually had to carry him through the front door and back to the new flat.  Hopefully he won’t go back, or at least he won’t hang around if he doesn’t see me in the window gazing back at him.

He’s still getting used to the new place.  To be honest, he’s pooing a lot.  Or at least scratching around in his litter tray a lot.  For now it’s in the hall by the front door, just because there are still boxes everywhere else.  And we must’ve been woken up at least ten times last night by him scratching around.  I think he might be working through a little bit of an unsettled tummy, caused by all the moving around and confusion.  My Man thinks he may be bulimic.

Diabetic moment of the day

We are still without internet, TV or landline.  We are being blamed for this and this morning it was implied very strongly by someone in customer services that we had done something wrong and were making things up and lying about whether or not we’d received a letter about it.  As soon as I can get hooked up to a printer a very strongly-worded letter will be going to the company, with a copy for Ofcom, just for good measure.

Whilst talking to customer services I was made so angry, and so offended, and I was making such an effort to stay rational that I somehow managed to dump all my blood sugar and had to eat a handful of dolly mixtures as soon as I hung up.

So presumably the implication would then be that I had lied about what I knew and didn’t know and the effort of lying was such that I faked a hypoglycaemic attack for attention.


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