I went back to kickboxing on Monday and finally got my orange belt!
I think we're supposed to wear them in class but I don't fancy it. It's thick and bulky and I'm already toting enough stuff around my middle, quite naturally. I'll just put it on a shelf and admire it. It will come in dandy if I ever need to tie a damsel to a train track.
. . .
It has been a freaky week. I was going to write about my small tale of woe earlier, but I always feel like a right old goose when I express discontent en blog because someone always emails to say that my tale of woe is nuthin, because their cat only has one leg and their house is on fire, as they speak. Normally I can smile and say, I bow down to your superior misery, but last week I decided to be pathetic and hide offline.
Anyway! Here is the middle class pickle that Dr G and I have found ourselves in.
- After years of dithering and wallpapering, we were finally putting our flat on the market last week.
- And we were also juuust about to put in an offer on a nice little house.
- But alas, that very same day… the bank which held our deposit decided to bloody COLLAPSE.
Dr G and I are dawdling, overly-cautious individuals who put in a lot of time, consultation and head-scratching before choosing a loaf of bread, let alone choosing somewhere to save our pennies. But alas, we did not see this coming in time. Holy shit people, a collapsing bank.
Last Tuesday was rather scary; a day of barely breathing and wondering if you would ever see your little pile of moula again. It is not a big pile of moula but it's our pile of moula and we have put years of effort and tightwaddery into it. So it makes your guts churn to see the balance on the screen but knowing it's frozen and untouchable.
Now everything is limbo. Without our deposit of course means we can't buy or sell nuthin'. We are way under the government savings protection limit so we should be covered, but don't know when/how that will happen. Some reports say six months, others say a year. The governments are still nutting it out so all we can do is wait for news.
It's amusing on one level, because Dr G and I were so shitscared about taking the plunge into proper home ownership (we currently have a quarter of a flat). When we finally summon the nerve to do it — estate agents, solicitors; actually looking at houses in person instead of just going "meh" at pictures on the internet — it all goes tits up. We'd even gone so far to buy a new rubbish bin, since the old one was mouldy and revolting, to add a touch of class to the flat.
It is truly out my hands right now so I'm trying to put the issue into a box labelled "Money Shit" and stick it on a shelf up the back of my brain. I have lots of other boxes to deal with so I don't think it would be good use of energy and effort to wallow.
In the meantime Dr G and I will stay tuned to see if we get our savings back or a truckload of Icelandic cod and Bjork's back catalogue. And I will try not to think about that wee house that I stupidly allowed myself to slightly fall for. Maybe there's another one out there for us. Maybe it will even have a LAUNDRY!
. . .
Back to the kickboxing – remind me not to take four weeks off ever again. My butt and hamstrings are so sore from Monday's class, I'm waddling like a cowboy. I really need to get some sort of Butt and Hamstring Toughening Program sorted.