Skip to main content

A whole new world.

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 mixed feelings, it's good to be here (and, I note, is now the shortest commute of my life, down the fire escape and a stroll into the kitchen) but I'm left with a slightly wistful feeling that I never really said a proper good bye to the old place. There's probably a German compound noun for the sensation, but essentially I wish I'd known that that was the last time I was sleeping in that bedroom when I did so, two of my kids were born in there, after all. As it turned out it was a bit like leaving for University, I left, and I never came back.

Well, almost, we're still back and forth, moving in instalments, but I no longer live there. Yesterday afternoon, in the split between lunch and evening service, I wandered down and had one last sit in the conservatory looking out onto the garden that we've transformed in the last fifteen years and where I've whiled away many afternoons watching goldfinches and coal tits squabble over the bird feeders. That helped, the slight feeling of dislocation eased, when I went back to the flat, it felt more like home.

I could reasonably be accused of sentimentality for that last paragraph but, in a relatively peripatetic existence, that house was the longest I've stayed in one place. I did need to say goodbye to it, rather than just leave.

And now we're here, and things are different, and it's harder to differentiate between work life and home life, a lesson I'm going to need to learn quickly. But it's good, difference is good, doing something new is good, and it probably was time for a change. So, if you need to find me, look for the sign of the Kicking Donkey, I'll be there somewhere.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Creepy old men

I note, somewhat wearily, that creepy old men are back in the news, being creepy. Creepy old men, and their apologists and enablers, who argue that their creepiness is somehow the natural order of things. Old men would have you believe that it is difficult to not be a creepy old man. That it is a task of epic proportions. It is not that difficult. It is a matter of intention. As yet more of the grimness of Epstein unfolds, creepy old men are, sadly, a flaccid topic once again. Whether it be pursuing students thirty years their junior, or simply not asking too many questions about the background of the probably legal young woman who you've just been introduced to by your good pal Jeff. To be clear, I am not referring to criminal creepy old men, the ones who actually committed statutory rape, the ones who fucked trafficked hirls. That is not something which is allowed to get away merely with the contempt of the observer.  That deserves prison.  No , I'm referring to the hinterla...
Post a Comment
Read more

Inedible

"He says it's inedible" said my front of house manager, as she laid the half-eaten fish and chips in front of me, and instantly I relaxed.  Clearly, I observed, it was edible to some degree. I comped it, because I can't be arsed arguing the toss, and I want to make my front of house's lives as simple as possible. The haddock had been delivered that morning. The fryers had been cleaned that morning. The batter had been made that morning (and it's very good batter, ask me nicely and I'll give you the recipe some time). The fish and chips was identical to the other 27 portions I'd sent out on that lunch service, all of which had come back more or less hoovered up, we have have a (justified, if I do say so myself) very good reputation for our chips. But it was, apparently, "inedible". When it comes to complaints, less is more. If you use a hyperbolic word like that, I'll switch off, you've marked yourself as a rube, a chump, I'm not g...
Post a Comment
Read more

The daftest complaint I ever had

I have written here several times down the years about customer complaints, both justified and idiotic. Working in hospitality they are an ineivitability. No matter how good you are, how consistent, you will get complaints. Very few of them stick in the memory, but some, by virtue of their extreme idiocy, do. And one popped into my mind as I was plating up a dish this lunchtime, and I thought, why not, it's as good a thing to write a blog about as any. It's also an entertaining example of how events can play out in ways you may not expect at the time. It sticks in the mind as it combined stupidity with a petty malice and venality which leaves me with no qualms about taking the piss out of it publicly. I rarely let bad reviews lie, if I feel they're unfair I might demur, if I feel they're reasonable I'll make a point of apologising. If they're stupid I'll take pleasure in replying very politely. This one got ignored. It happened on a Sunday, which is another ...
Post a Comment
Read more