Stet by Ria Bacon

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

Stand not upon the order of your going

But go already!

Yeah, yeah, I'm not gone yet. Like Peter Seller's Indian trumpet player, I keep popping up when I should lie down and keep quiet. I'm waiting for the authorization from Paris that we can ship our stuff. Apparently, it takes several days to fax the form from one department to the other, even though they all work in the same building. Something to do with relativity and the position of Uranus, apparently.

Amid 150 boxes, I've kept one pc connected and can enjoy browsing and listening to my favourite radio station in the world. Fridge has gone, so the beers are soaking in the bath; still got a cooker, but no pans or plates. No problemo. I'm gonna load the car with the 25-odd boxes of trash and drive 20 metres to the bins. Hey, it makes sense. They're really heavy boxes, and it's really hot.

More tootling later ... nothing else to do but wait ...