On a scale from Bothered to Seething, I'm Miffed
 

You heard me.

For those (which is most of you) who don't know, I'm moving house, and I've been slowly moving out of my current house for a few weeks now. If you want a stomach ulcer, get a job in removals. This move has to be the most ridiculously arduous thing I've done in God knows how long.

Today was the icing on the cake, the final day of removals before the buyer officially owned the property. I awoke at 8am in my mother's house and rushed in the pouring rain and ghastly gales that pervade Merseyside to my dads house, which is the house I usually live in and am in turn moving out of. I had to be there early to help some charity people take our couch-bed away to be given to a less fortunate family.

Then after that, the final moving of household items commenced. At first I didn't think there was much left to remove but I know I had to sift through about 20+ trash bags full of crap and put them in the hall to be put in storage later on. Once all the rooms were completely empty I then set about cleaning the house from top to tail. I vacuumed the carpets (and on some occasions, the walls) and dust filled areas before mopping the wooden floors to give them a glorious shine for the new owner.

By around 2pm my dad came over and we began to slowly load things into his car to be put in storage. This is when the buyer called. I didn't speak to her, but the general gist was "I own the house now, piss off of my property". So, basically, I spent the best half of my day cleaning a house for a completely ungrateful bitch. She announced she was on her way, so we took what best we could and loaded it into the car and took off, making sure we didn't forget the dog.

The thing that pisses me off the most is how cheeky she was. She had absolutely no qualms about being a rude slag and telling us to get out of a house we'd spent about three weeks tidying and cleaning for her without so much as a thank you. I'd originally intended to take photographs of the empty house for memory's sake, but those plans are ruined now. Also, a washing machine and a piano that belong to my family are now sitting abandoned in an uptight tory troutface's new house that she doesn't deserve one fucking bit.

I rather enjoy ranting and I could go on for much longer, but for your sanity, reader, I will not continue. So let's discuss how pissed off I am and YOUR EXPERIENCES with moving and slags. :)

I've moved 4 times in the past year, and everytime I move I leave more and more stuff behind... eventually I will move and won't have to take anything with me, and that will be nice.

I know what you mean. One day maybe I will just blow up my house and buy another one, and sell off the prime land.

I'd consider it a net gain.

I expected her to be courteous. And my dad wouldn't bullshit me, he was angry too.

Diesel, I guess now is a good time as ever to say it: I almost never understand what you are saying.

I understood that. Good plan, but I don't want to go to jail.

What? Of course not. I've never been to Wrigley Field..

What exactly did she say on the phone? "The gist" is never convincing enough for me.

Quite a relief this was not you!

Its not much to watch on TV, if you're a casual fan.

You're slagging off on our national pastime; Babe Ruth is listening. What is Inspector Morse anyway?

Ah, so he was investigating steroid use in baseball players? Interesting.

Baseball is the best American sport.
Football is stupid.
Sorry to hear about the cunt buyer.

I don't understand cricket, if that is any consolation.

We have lame forensic and vigilante cop series. Plus we don't have inspectors, just detectives and private eyes.

We're fogetting Inspector Gadget.

I used to be able to call every culprit on Murder She Wrote.

GO GO GADGET SKATES!

Right, Angela Lansbry too.

Morse and Columbo are all you need really, in terms of telly. Apart from the odd Shannon Tweed film on channel 5 I suppose.

Columbo clenched his teeth when he spoke, regardless of that absurd trademark cigar. That alone made that show unbearable. And it seems to me that TV detectives are either unnaturally smooth or obscenely hairy. What the connection is, I do not know.

Sorry to hear about your troubles, Danny. Moving several times in and out of the city has made me a material minimalist, and if possible, I avoid any contact with old/new renters. God knows what damning possession I've left behind in some forgotten closet corner.