From March to Cambridge

Well, we’ve finally got Tabitha, Gareth and Ross moved from March to Cambridge, much to Tabitha’s great relief. I think she began to get seriously worried about the town when the local shopkeeper asked somewhat incredulously *why* they had moved there!

We had dragged ourselves very, very reluctantly from our beautiful, sunny, happy garden on Sunday morning, after I have fished out of the pond a concrete mermaid and The Builder had hoiked out a concrete duck. I just knew there was more rubbish in there. Every time I tried to move the pump outlet it was getting stuck. And Sunday morning was bright and sunny, and the pond was clear – and I could see the obstructions! A fantastic day for gardening and allotting it would have been. :-(

Anyway. Off we headed towards Newark, down a road that seemed quite direct and on which we had never travelled before. It was a very pretty road. There were piggies, not on the road, of course, but in the paddocks to either side. Then there was an obstruction! The road was blocked!!!!! A man patrolling the barricades told us to go back 4 miles to the Spread Eagle and turn right and follow the signs. Which we did. And again it was quite a pretty drive. But you might have thought they’d have put a sign up at the pub alerting you to the detour. Would have saved us 8 miles if they had!

Anyhow. We got to March in not too much time and stopped at Sainsbury for provisions. We had been having such a lovely time in our garden that we had completely failed to have breakfast. Can’t go on Removal Duty if you have got to the point where you are likely to munch the arms and legs of the removees!

The unit was very, very full. Full of stuff to be moved. Gulp. And so we packed the van. Full to the gunnels with heavy, big, bulky and space consuming things, packed around with squishy things. While the boys were dealing with the heavy stuff, Taffa and I strolled through the sunshine to the Co-op (Taffa had eventually found a shop, a pub and the basic necessities of life in her wanderings around) to buy drinks for us all. On the way back her phone rang. Gosh, said she. I wonder who could possibly be calling me from a Cambridge number on a Sunday afternoon. Can’t be a work related call. As it wasn’t. It was Peter, ringing to see how to was all going. I spoke to him too. But the second call she took was a work one. Offering her an interview on Friday for a job in the Fitzwilliam. Everyone keep their fingers and toes crossed for a successful interview. The Fitzwilliam would be a great place to work!

Ok, then. Off to Cambridge we go, in the van and the car. Their car, not our car, which was peacefully dozing in the sunshine in Tupton! They had taken their house sight unseen. They had seen the outside but not the inside, having been told initially that there were 30 people ahead of them in the Interested List. Then they had told the agent that they were looking for somewhere for 18-24 months and the agent started to pay greater attention. Then they were rung and told they could have the house. Then there was lots and lots of administrative dashing about, including them asking me, in a piece of fine irony, to be financial guarantor. Ironic because when we moved into The Mudhut, Richard had to stand as guarantor because Spencers wouldn’t take just my income into account and they weren’t convinced that The Builder’s income was sufficiently stable. This, mind you, despite the fact that Northern Rock lent me, base on my income alone, the money to buy The Sidings. So sufficiently solvent to buy a house on my own, apparently, but not to rent one. And now here I am, it seems, earning enough money to underwrite Tabitha and Gareth’s rental as well! Strange are the ways of estate agents.

Anyway. They seem to have well and truly fallen on their feet. The house is lovely. It has a lounge room, dining room and kitchen downstairs and two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, and a lovely, light, sunny aspect, with a lovely, light, sunny garden. Not too far from a pub and two small supermarkets. Fish and chip shop and a Chinese also not too far away. And a 25 minute stroll along the bike paths into the Cambridge city centre. Tabitha and I tested that when we sent The Builder and Gareth back to collect the next, very full vanload of stuff from the house. We unpacked Wendy (their car) then went for a wander and an explore, and had ice cream (we didn’t tell the boys about that!) and sat in the garden and considered the recycling scheme. Then the van came back and we unpacked and unpacked and unpacked and unpacked. Then The Builder and I left and went home. And didn’t get lost getting back to the A14. And didn’t get lost at Newark, either, trying to find our way back (the road block had been lifted by the time we got there). But we didn’t have the stew I had made in advance for dinner. It was past 11 when we got home. We had scrambled eggs on toast instead. And the stew on Monday.

So it had been a very busy day, really. We were lucky with the weather. The weatherman had said that the morning mist and fog would lift everywhere except, perhaps, in East Anglia, and we had driven from glorious sunshine into murk and mire as we approached March. But the murk and mire had lifted as the afternoon went on until we had glorious sunshine in Cambridge too.

The Builder went immediately into a sound, deep sleep once he’d eaten his eggs and toast. I drank my wine before giving up, shaking him awake and retiring to bed with a sense of a job well done.