House Inspection

Mainly for the International folks.  Here are a couple of pictures of our Melbourne abode, as we had a house inspection the other day and I took some photos whilst it was nice and tidy.  Probably the last time in our lives we would be able to live somewhere as lovely as this.  I did get a Lottery ticket last week but, damn it, the numbers did not come up.  But I did read in the newspaper last week that one Melbourne lady had a memory lapse and put two tickets in on the same day.  And so she won.  Twice.

Gay FM

Let me tell you readers that I am leading such a glamorous new lifestyle in Melbourne.  Last Friday night I was invited to a Cleaning Party.  My usual Friday nights in Oxford veered between a good night out with low lighting, funky music and a glass of something lovely in my right hand, and a cosy night in with The Accountant and the boys.  I am such a dag now that an Enjo party is the highlight of my week.

For the uninitiated these Enjo products are not for the fainthearted.  The sponges alone are $45.  No Tesco 79p cleaning products for these Camberwell ladies.  However, they were developed in Austria by a chap who had the sense to create something which would clean up oil spills in the ocean without Spray n'Wipe.  So you use no cleaning product but just these magical sponges and cloths.

It was being in a reality TV infomercial.  The sceptical among us who arrived just for the champagne and good cheese, scoffed and laughed in the corner for the first 30 seconds.  And then there were "Ooohs" and "Aahhs" from everyone as the Enjo Lady did her stuff.  Suckers.  Of course I snapped up $300 worth of products right then and there.  Do you think I am crazy enough to let this stuff go?

Another funny part of my week was the appearance at my door of the Radio Diary Lady.  She very inconveniently turned up just as I was trying to wedge Jonty into the pram for school pick-up.  I must admit I was a bit off with her.  She wanted me to put down my radio listening regime for the next week.  I tried to explain that mainly I list to BBC podcasts but this did not put her off one bit.

I have yet to find a good radio station in Melbourne and so the other day whilst I was doing my usual radio fiddling in the car, tutting at every bad song and annoying DJ (oh yes please tell us again about your D-list celebrity social event) I found JOY FM.  The news was being read by a particularly camp newsreader, complete with lisp.  I thought it was nice that this station was being so inclusive.  Then the announcer said "JOY FM.  The gayest station in the nation!".  Hilarious.  That cheered me up no end and of course I can't wait to pop that in my Radio Diary.  Disco beats at 8:30am?  Yes please.

Now just waiting for my Enjo products to turn up so I can really go crazy in the bathroom.  I might have to wear heels and a dress though so I don't feel like such a complete tosser.

Garsington

It was absolute madness in a bottle.  I was meant to be jet-lagged.  Sarah expecting twins at any moment.  And Robert running about being successful club-owner/expectant father/house renovator.  And yet every night since I arrived in the quiet village of Garsington, all three of us were up until one or two in the morning.  Doing what? Rummaging mainly.  Drinking cups of tea in dressing gowns.  Organising stuff in the wee hours.

Halfway through my visit we moved house. Across the road and up a bit.  So one night I was in my usual guest bed in one house, and the next night I was in exactly the same bed across the road.  All of our belongings magically re-appearing at the new house.

I even found myself making up my dance class at 5:30am in the morning.  Typing out emails.  Making endless lists of projects for the house in Oxford.  During the day I would spend my time between the house and catching up with friends.

I think when you see black scuff marks on your walls, drips of tea and red wine in the kitchen, blackened, mouldy taps in the bathroom and guk you cannot identify in the corner - then you know you are in for a fun week of cleaning.  Don't even get me started on the kitchen ceiling (possibly a pancake Sunday gone horribly wrong?).

On Tuesday it looked like a student house. John Belushi would have been proud.  By yesterday it looked like our family home again.  I found one of the boys' old plastic frogs in a dead pot plant and put it in pride of place on some bricks.  A little welcome for the new tenants.  I also cleaned the house to within an inch of its life.  And left garden flowers in glass jars here and there.  A little reminder to the new tenants that I have a standard (see County Living magazine) and I expect it to stay that way.

I am writing this in Brunei Airport. A place I hope I never have to see again, only because four hours in a tiny airport is not that stimulating, especially having travelled for 16 hours already.  So if you find me ranting with an air of madness in this blog there is a good chance I have already lost the plot.

Jet Lagged

Very surreal to be walking around Oxford, and driving round country lanes as if I had never left.  Went to our old house.  It looked a bit crap to tell you the truth.  The garden was fantastic though; apples, figs and pears all over the place.

Have managed to get a few things done on my list today, including many cups of tea at the houses of surprised friends.  They open the door - and there I am!  Unannounced in every way.  You see I could not top up my sim card this morning. The Orange Top-Up Network had a day off so to speak.  And of course the lady voice recorded on the line sounds so bloody smug as they give you the bad news.

So I was again on a bus from Heathrow to Oxford, with no means of communication whatsoever.  In my bag were two iPods, one laptop and two mobile phones.  And yet I had to borrow a phone from a kind stranger.  You know the words no one wants to hear across the aisle of a bus pelting along the motorway, "Excuse me, would it be possible to.....".  So embarrassing.

I will tell you another thing.  If I never see the inside of Royal Air Brunei again I will die a happy woman.  I think 32 hours of travelling is a bit much really.  Still I have little bit of happy in my step and looking forward to staying up until at least 7:30pm.  Also Grazia magazine is only £1.95.