Posted by sean on August 28, 2013 at 10:16 pm in Moving House with No Comments


A major step forward in the house move was made today. The removal men transported all my stuff from my old flat to the new house. I was totally amazed at how fast they worked. All my possessions – my entire life – was loaded into a van before being driven a mile up the road and unpacked, in under an hour and a half. It was like watching David Attenborough documentary, where locusts strip an entire forest in hours, except in this case my whole flat was emptied and the work was done by men, not insects.

The rest of the day was spent on my own, undertaking the much longer task of cleaning my old flat, ahead of my imminent departure. There was lots and lots of dust, where furniture had stood for over 6 years. I was expecting to find hundreds of dead spiders in the spot of the TV cabinet. There was only one. The dozens I had terminated over the years must have turned to dust. Or been eaten by other spiders. Super spiders.

After filling the bowels of a vacuum cleaner, emptying an entire can of Cillit Bang into the shower and spraying far more Mr Sheen onto the surfaces than is healthy (hallucinations were caused), I can say my flat is clean. Well almost. I’ve still got to defrost the fridge and somehow clean the oven. I must have cooked thousands of pizzas over the course of my tenancy, and rather a lot of mess and stains have been left behind as a result. That’ll be my weekend job. As I said the other day, “I’m Never Moving Again”

Posted by sean on August 26, 2013 at 9:50 pm in Moving House with No Comments


Almost the entire Bank Holiday weekend has been spent preparing for the house move. Friday evening, Claire and I ordered a sofa. It is expected to take four weeks for delivery. FOUR WEEKS! Apparently it has to be built especially. Given the wait, I expect it to come from Geppetto’s workshop and to be handmade by Pinocchio and Jiminy Cricket.

Saturday was the big day. Key collection day. While sitting in the letting agency, waiting to sign our lives away onto a mountain of forms, I overheard a phone conversation between an estate agent and a potential tenant over the fact no properties existed where she could live with her children and collection of dogs. Despite only hearing one half of the conversation, it was evident the person on the other end of the phone was getting distressed at the thought of not being able to find a property where a landlord would permit her children and dogs to live. That’s life. If you really wanted somewhere to live, you would have them put down (the dogs, not the children).

We eventually got our keys and made our way (without dog) to our new house. We were shown around by a man who took a note of all the faults with the property, everything which was broken and the fact the house stunk of curry. As much as I like a curry, I don’t want my house to smell of it all day and all night. Hopefully after installing five hundred Glade plugins and leaving them turned on for a fortnight, the smell will disperse.

We began to leave the house and go to Twerton Park to watch Bath City. It was then we discovered the locks didn’t work. We had locked the house, with the front door wide open, therefore making it impossible to close. We were going nowhere.

Claire called the letting agency and was told to call a locksmith, which we would have to pay for. That’s when I went mad. I took the phone, and with my most demanding Victor Meldrew type attitude demanded they sort fix it. After a lot of arguing, including me sarcastically asking them the correct way in which I should operate a door lock, before threatening to sue them, we were told a senior manager would come round and fix the lock. They didn’t fix the lock. It didn’t need fixing. We were simply provided with a working key. Not a great start to the tenancy, although I was happy with the resolution and to have a locked door.

Upon leaving the house and locking the front door (correctly this time) an old woman appeared with her elderly dog. She introduced herself. I don’t remember her name, but for the purpose of this blog, we’ll call her Mrs Warboys. In a scene almost identical to that of a One Foot In The Grave episode, she told me that the hot tap bangs when it is in use and advised against using it late at night. Or in the day. Or ever. She said she was going to contact the landlord and make him fix it. I have a feeling we may have a few issues with her, with regards to noise. When I move my stuff in on Wednesday, I will make a conscious effort to leave my big speakers outside the house for long enough to get a good look. She’ll probably call the police.

Sunday was spent back in my old flat doing more packing. As all my stuff isn’t being moved until later in the week, my old flat is surrounded by boxes and bags. I can hardly move around. If a spider is spotted on the floor and hides among the clutter, it’s never being found. My Bank Holiday Monday, traditionally a day of rest, was far from relaxing. Even more packing was done and the always enjoyable task of defrosting the freezer. Oh joy. I’m never moving again.

Posted by sean on August 19, 2013 at 10:41 pm in Bath City, Moving House, Shopping with No Comments


I have decided that moving home is hard work. Most of the weekend has been dedicated to it. I left work early on Friday to open a joint bank account with Claire, before going to buy a bed. There were lots of beds to choose from and may factors to take into account. The hardness or softness the mattress, what type of headboard would be fitted and would there be drawers underneath. Other important issues for me included could the bed be easily moved or looked under in the event that a spider runs underneath, and the colour. Any colour is acceptable, but not ‘Manchester United Red’. We chose a bed, which was generously paid for my Claire’s mum.

Organising payment and delivery for the bed was like a scene from One Foot in the Grave. Two sales assistants struggled and bickered over a new computer system, both blaming each other and the software. “You’re double clicking too much”, “You’ve tabbed too far”, “You need to clear the form”. The whole process seemed to take hours. I would normally be concerned, with evening approaching, but was comforted by the fact that even if they took all night to work it out, there were plenty of beds to choose from, should a sleep-over be needed. Thankfully it wasn’t.


The rest of the weekend I carried on preparing for the move, by packing all my worthy possessions into boxes and bin bags. Mostly bin bags. I look like some poor, eccentric simpleton from a Channel 5 documentary “The Real Life Stig of the Dump”, as everywhere in my flat are bags of what looks like rubbish. It looks like a tip. If the bin men were to come into my flat, I would be left with nothing. There’s no worry of that happening, thankfully. The lazy shits won’t step 1 foot into the front garden to collect the household rubbish, so I hardly see them going to the effort of breaking into my flat to dispose of my belongings.

A photo of the inside of my flat

Bath City started their season on Saturday. Away to the world-renowned Bishops Stortford. Franchise scum. Due to packing, I missed the game, but thanks to the wonders of modern-day technology, was able to listen to commentary on the internet. The mighty Romans won the game 2-1. The first time they have won on the opening day since 2006. They won the league that season, so there is surely an omen there. It is also the first time I have missed an opening day fixture since 2006. Therefore, I will be buying a bottle of champagne in anticipation of our promotion party in April 2014. I’ll also stay well away from the opening day of next season – away to Bristol Rovers in the Skrill Premier.

Ready and waiting…

 

Posted by sean on August 8, 2013 at 10:48 pm in Moving House with No Comments


Somebody call Jim White and tell him to leave the pub and get his arse back to the Sky Sports News studio. There is news. Not just ordinary news. Not just big news. No, this news is BREAKING NEWS.

“So what is this breaking news?” I hear you all cry.

“Has Alex Ferguson been found guilty of match fixing, thus relegating Manchester United to the Evo-Stik League Division One North?”

“Is it the story of Luis Suarez snubbing Arsenal to join Bath City?”

“Tell us John Terry has been knighted for his services to British sport, after winning Wimbledon, The Tour de France and Ashes series single- handedly.”

While all three of these stories are of course true, there is bigger, far better news…

Claire and I now have a house together. After our offer for a property in Weston Village was accepted last week, as of today, the references have been cleared and we’re ready to go. I’ve even booked a man with a van (or ‘men with ven’, to give it the plural term), to move all my stuff!

There are still lots of things to be done, like cleaning, buying furniture, organising bank accounts and, most importantly, getting Sky installed, but we’re well on the way to moving into a home together.

I broke the news to my current letting agency this evening. They probably won’t read my email until next week and will take even longer to reply – mainly as their preferred means of communication is carrier pigeon.

One thing I am not looking forward to is trying to get my deposit back. Considering I have lived in flat for over 6 years, I have done well to keep it in one piece and not demolished/burnt/flooded. Banning Simon from taking red wine into the property certainly helped. Removing all flammable material and matches from the flat while I listened to Leeds United games on the radio also kept pyromania-related incidents to a minimum. I just hope they don’t notice the cider stain on the kitchen wall. Blame that little accident on a very gassy alcoholic beverage, a glass bottle which had been shaken up and a magnetic bottle opener attached to the fridge.

Posted by sean on August 3, 2013 at 2:58 pm in Leeds United, Moving House with No Comments


A lot has happened since my last blog, which seems like ages ago now. In truth, it was only Monday, but in contrast with the past twelve months, where I would blissfully go weeks without updating this site, it isn’t very long at all.

Anyway, the news… Some woman had a baby, don’t you know. Oh yeah, we’ve already covered that – over and over and over again. Now it appears the media, very much like the rest of us, don’t give a shit either. Mercifully.

In my own life, I will shortly be moving from my humble abode, which has served me well since 2007. Last Friday, Claire and I viewed a house in Weston Village and put in an offer to rent it. I haven’t blog about this event until now, primarily because up until last week, the offer wasn’t accepted and I didn’t want to tempt fate.

Looking round last Friday was interesting to say the least. The current occupants, of which there seemed to be many, did not seem too pleased to see us. So densely populated was the house, that there was a mattress under the stairs. I am probably exaggerating slightly, but I seem to remember there was about a thousand people living there – and I have a photographic memory. Plus there was mess absolutely everywhere – it looked like a school jumble sale. I’m not painting a pretty picture of where I have decided to live with my wife-to-be, but in all seriousness, once the residents are moved/kicked out and take their mountains of clothes and bric-a-brac hoard with them, it will be a lovely home. No doubt I will blog more on that in the next few months.

As with any house move, there are always stresses. The latest came a few days ago, when, after our offer to rent the property was accepted, Claire and I were sent forms to fill out; effectively telling the letting agency our life story. I suppose they don’t want to have the next Mr and Mrs Fred West living in one of their properties. Digging up patios to recover dead bodies probably costs a lot of money and could even see a tenant lose their deposit. I think it would have been quicker to write and publish my own autobiography and send them a signed copy in the post…

The first three years of my childhood would be spent in the Roman City of York, North Yorkshire. Having no brothers or sisters at the time of my birth, my infancy was spent as an only child, being raised my mother and father. I am told that I had a happy start to my life….

Sod it – this autobiography stuff is boring… I’ll just do the reference form.

So, assuming the references all go through, and my line manager doesn’t mention the time I suffered a severe bout of rageahol and burnt down a building, I should be able to move into the house by the end of the month. “Should” be the operative word.

Photo does not represent the house I’m getting (unfortunately)

Moving away from the new house and back onto Leeds United. I blogged the other day about Ken Bates the Monopoly Man and his desire to buy various assets of the football club, despite being sacked as a (dis)honorary president. One of those assets was the club’s radio station, Yorkshire Radio. Less than a day after the news regarding this declined purchase emerged, it was announced that Yorkshire Radio, the station created by Master Bates, was being shut down with immediate effect. It would appear the Leeds owners would rather kill an entire radio station than let it be owner by the former dictator, I mean chairman. Of course, I naturally feel for all those connected with the radio station who have been made redundant. It is always sad when anyone loses their job – unless they’re an honorary president, in which case it’s fucking hilarious.

The Leeds owners, GFH, have been doing a lot to impress the fans this past month. They really are the gift which keeps on giving. Or should that be gift which keeps on GFHting? Is that bad? It is, isn’t it.

So pleased are the Leeds fans with GFH, that they have sold out their opening game of the 2013/14 season at home to the mighty Brighton And Hove Albion (kicking off in approximately 29 minutes!). Not only that, GFH have allegedly found investment to buy back Elland Road and possibly pump money into the team. I don’t know what this investment is, but my guess would be it is more than a few coppers behind the sofa.

I find the whole situation rather strange. Before his sudden departure, Ken Bates had been at the club for 8 and a half years. During this time, he admitted that nobody wanted to invest in Leeds United, even blaming the fans for this and branding us morons. Now we (almost) have investment and about to play a game of football in front our biggest opening day attendance since 2003 (before Bates). To quote Father Dougal Maguire “I’m hugely confused”. Confused because I was lead to believe Bates saved us and was doing the best for the club. The only possible thing I can think of is that GFH are better than Ken Bates – that Ken Bates was actually WORSE than GFH. But that couldn’t happen, could it, Ken? … COULD IT?

Marching on together.

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