In a slightly bored fit I thought I'd see what single was number one on the day I was born. As it turns out it's something by David Soul. Silver Lady, to be precise. Which only goes to show that the single buying public of 1977 let me down quite badly (though loking through the list, nobody born in 77 got a fair crack of the whip, them's some dismal charts). My son fares marginally better, but only just, he gets to put up with the sugababes b-team's "About you now". The wife wins with Abba's "The name of the game", though that is kind of like winning by saying hah, you've got scrofula, I've only got diptheria, so, y'know, swings and roundabouts.
I appear to have moved into the pub. Now, I don't wish to give the impression that this has come as a complete surprise to me, we'be been planning to do so since shortly after I bought it, but still, it's sort of snuck up on me and now I'm waking up and thinking what happened? How come I'm here? The reason for this discombobulation is that this move was initially a temporary measure. Mrs Coastalblog had some relatives coming to stay, and it made sense to put them up in our house while we decamped to the flat. It's still a work in progress, but a mad week of cleaning and carting stuff around made it habitable. I had a suspicion that once we were in we'd be back and forth for a few weeks. As with many of my hunches, I was completely and utterly wrong. As it turned out, once we were here, we were here. Things moved at pace and, now our kitchen appliances have been installed, there's no going back, the old house is unusable. It's left me with slightly mi
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