It's been a few weeks since we moved in now, though it doesn't seem that long as the time has been interspersed with holidays and weekends away, which were all lovely and very welcome. However, here we are, home at last; boxes unpacked, books on shelves, Small Sprog 'goggling' the TV from his favourite sofa, wet towels drying on the bedroom floor and the first stains on the new carpet. Well, to be expected I suppose and at least it wasn't me who spilled the spill.
So far I have still not caved into requests for pets various, though Tall Girl has a friend with a cat who has, inconsiderately, just given birth to several kittens that look adorable, and everyone in the world seems to be getting a new puppy at the moment; I fear a conspiracy, but as I said, nothing furry has passed the threshold. Yet. (Apart from Small Sprog, who seriously needs a hair cut)
The neighbours (we all moved in within 10 days of each other) all seem really friendly and quiet too, which is fantastic, though I'm sure they may not say the same about us, singing in the kitchen can sometimes get out of hand. The man on one side of us plays the piano, but he does it so beautifully it's a complete pleasure to hear him. (I'm not sure he would say the same of our singing) but there's the problem. 'The Man Next Door'. Well not him exactly, not 'him' at all in fact, just his name, both their names. I have this dreadful habit of forgetting as soon as I'm told a name!
I was sensible when I was introduced to the neighbours the other side, I must have been concentrating, and I came inside and wrote their names down; Paul, Maxine and Louis the dog. I wasn't so clever with the 'nextdoors' on the other side though. He introduced himself as I was leaving the house and before my car had rolled off the drive the name had gone, poof, out of my head forever! Now is it just me or is that normal? Perhaps my age is catching up with me? Though, come to think of it, I think I've always been this bad.
Anyway, yesterday as we unintentionally 'put out the bins' together he gives me a cheery 'Hello Suburbia' just like that. He can remember my name, I have no idea of his. What can I do? Suggestions below please!
So that's it so far folks. Riveting isn't it? A regular life, settled, a home of our own blah di blah. It has occurred to me, as I write, that here I am again putting bins out in unison, that there may be multiple gardening occurring on sunny weekends, that washing will flutter daintily on several washing lines on a Monday morning. From suburbia, there seems no escape!
(One day a house in the country, one day, maybe...I can always dream)