We have finally moved into a new flat. It took a lot of work, a lot of ordering about, a lot of phone calls and a lot of restraint on my part from wanting to murder my dad and bury him in the garden under his new shed.
Every day since Monday I have been working from 9am till about 9pm moving his stuff to the new place, making phone calls and generally sitting on the urge to plant a left hook on his chin. It’s not funny when I sit down to have my dinner at around 9:30pm and he is still moaning at me for not doing enough work.
It wasn’t easy when Tracy was moving into her new place on the very same weekend and I had promised her I would come up on Saturday night and help her. My dad told me Thursday night “you are not allowed out this weekend”. Yep at 32 years of age my dad is still telling me when I can go out.
On Saturday My step brother, my sister and her boyfriend turned up to help move the big things. My sister spent time putting the furniture into the front room and did a really good job. My dad hated it and at 11pm he demanded I start moving the room around.
He didn’t like what we had done with the furniture in his bedroom, didn’t like where we had put things in the kitchen and moaned about us not bringing down a smashed up wardrobe that he wanted to cut into shelves.
I’m going away next weekend. I bloody need it!