Wednesday, 3 June 2009

Some like it hot

but when you are packing your life up to move half way round the world - the hottest day of the year just isn't helpful. The only good thing to happen today is that Gus and I managed not to kill each other - but only just.

We started the day sorting out toiletries - in an attempt to keep our baggage weight down we purged our bathroom collection. It was painful. Throwing out perfectly good shampoos and conditioners that we nicked from 5 star hotels and have never used. And worrying just how many anti ageing & anti wrinkle potions we have. Us gays sure are suckers for marketing. We are worth it though.

Then onto clothes. The packing bit was easy. Deciding what to take was a bit harder. Figuring out what we are going to wear over the next few days so that it could all go in one bag required a level of decision making that was quite frankly beyond me. Big decisions I can do - no problem. Like emigrating. Quite calm about that. Choosing which pair of shoes to wear on the plane has left me in need of counselling.

Amidst all this fashion trauma, I was also trying to sort out my email. I wanted to set up my new shiny netbook to access my email from my remote webmail before the BT internet connection is shut down. Some of you have already lost the will to live just from reading about this. Imagine having to do it. Took me two hours and some choice language before I worked out what I was doing wrong. Do not be misled by my fondness for Doctor Who and Star Trek. I don't normally do technology. I have people to do that for me. Not at home though. And my requests for a sonic screwdriver were ignored by Gus. Some assistant he is!

Then the phone rings. It's the man I rang a few weeks back about mending the dent on my car. I definitely need people to do reversing for me sometimes as I have a habit of hitting fence posts. He was supposed to come round ages ago and give me a quote. He didn't. Now he could. So he turns up and starts sanding, drilling, mixing resin and spray painting. Very butch.

My ex-wife's partner John then arrives to collect all the furniture we sold him - all the furniture of mass destruction that could lead to the end of Australian life. We get the resin man to move his van, and my dented car - back up John's van to the garage and start loading. He's also taking the dishwasher so I go and disconnect it. And get covered in smelly drainage hose gunk. Now I am probably illegal for entry into Australia!

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