If only I had a car

On Thursday 29th of June, I left 22Stanmore street to start my new life in a new house. With term over and Brighton on the way, however, moving into a house in Leeds when I would be there for the extent of a day didn't seem highly productive. Living with parents is quite good. No extra rent, lifts to places, food at all the right times, extra food if I feel like it, nice and slow dial-up internet...it's excellent. It took a total of three car loads full-to-the-brim-and-bursting to get all of my crap out of house A which had slowly accumulated over the year. My dad came up at about 10, and as my earlier blog Home Time... stated I have to behonest, I didn't get much sleep. My dad arrived about an hour after I thought he would but my packing was going pretty bad so it was nice to have a car to move things into. My house mate (a small yorkshire-man currently working at Caffe Nero) was getting pretty irate because I did pretty much no cleaning and left the house in a not-very-good state. I don't want to have to put up with that again so this year I will clean with joy in my heart. Like that song..."I've got joy, joy, joy, in my heart, joy in my heart, joy in my heart...".

In the midst of all of this my dad also got a flat tyre. That was good, or not so good, maybe even bad if you consider we wanted to set off when the tyre man came out. By that I don't mean he admitted for the first time to anyone that he was homosexual, but simply that he arrived from his station to fix the tyre. Right now there is a road sweeper outside the back of my house, and as soon as I started to write about him he reversed his vehicle very swiftly. I can still hear him though, you're not gone yet my pretty... He's back.

Anyway, I moved back to Leeds two weeks later, with only two car loads and a box of rubbish for my parents to deal with. i felt quite bad because I said I would transfer the rubbish from the box to bin bags but then I forgot. When we arrived at the house (Number 220 , a house modelled around Ikea) We found a fairly serious problem before we even got in. That was, my front door key was not the front door key. I had another key so we tried the back door, only it was bolted from the inside so there was no hope of rescue. We set off (me and papa) to RedBrick Properties head office of Leeds and told them the problem. A silly yound girl grave me another set of keys which...also didn't work. Back once more and this time a helpful man got all the keys together and said "here's your problem..." I thought What I've got the wrong key? You're a genius. "We had new locks put in and you're isn't a new key. It should look like this..." And showed me a complicated toothed key. FInally gertting into the house meant realising...hmm...this is a rather nice house. I could live here. Which is a good thing because I am. But after a lot of opening and closing doors and boxes I moved in. THat was that, dad and brother (who came up on the second journey) went away and I relaxed in my humble abode.

I'll tell you one thing though, I'd rather be in "my Father's house", anyday.