So Friday I go down with dad and my brother Marek to move some stuff to my new Bournemouth flat. He used to like to be called Fonzie but now tells us that is very old school and we must call him Marek.
I'm not too sure about the curry smells in the hallway but that is nothing compared to the happy excited squeals of the 2 little kids downstairs. I meet their dad and introduce myself. Seems like a nice chap. We exchange names and shake hands. He quickly asks out of the blue "What hours do you work?" I reply "9 to 5 pretty much." He responds "Oh that's no good. I come home from work at 11.30pm."
Well I'm sorry I will just change my life to suit I guess. "Are you telling me I need earplugs?"
Then he tells me the woman who was in my flat couldn't stand kids and came down to him distraught saying "I can't take it anymore with your children". I don't like her either. She's left me loads of crap in the cupboard, old sofa cushions and a shitty sideboard to dispose of. Dad offers to take this back to Aylesbury and dispose of it for me. Lovely lovely dad. Argos deliver the wardrobe but wheel it down the street because of the one way system to get to me. They say the sofa will not go up the stairs to my flat so we rush to dismantle the sofa into parts in the parking area before the rain comes. Some pratt has parked his enormous BMW too close to our driveway and we scratch my car on the way out. On the plus side we get to meet some neighbours and I get an incredibly warm welcome to the neighbourhood. Very friendly people which is one reason I like Bournemouth.
My mentally retarded brother shouts rather than speaks and likes to be argumentative. The wardrobe takes 6 hrs rather than 1 hr to build and is a colourful experiencewith much banging and debate. I leave feeling game set and match on noise levels to flat 3. Take that.
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