ReadingColleague’s birthday last night and we gathered at her house for a very jolly evening of chilli and chat. Mostly workmates or other teacher friends.
I shared the news that we have accepted an offer on our house! A new estate agent last Tuesday led to a viewing on Wednesday from a young couple who were able to climb the stairs without stopping for a breather. The chap won over ActorLaddie’s heart when he said he could look out into the garden while cooking. AL had to be restrained from giving him soup recipes there and then. They will make lovely neighbours for our lovely neighbours. So that’s all good.
They are renting and we are moving into an empty house. It could all happen quite quickly, I said. There followed a succession of stories from people who had been just that position and yet things still managed to take forever – in one case, seven months. So we won’t start packing yet. The one great aim of English law…
The other topic of conversation was She Who Must Not Be Named. Difficult for younger people to understand the emotions raised in those of us who were working at the time. I shared my experience of being a young personnel manager at a small, local hospital having to tell weeping cleaner after weeping cleaner that they were being made redundant. But they could, if they wished, apply to work for an external contractor for less money, reduced holiday and sick pay and with an expectation that they would clean much more hospital in much less time.
We rounded off the evening with that parlour game where people pick the name of a character out of a hat and give clues for their team to guess. The evening’s chat had led to quite a mixed range of names some of which bemused the under thirties: General Pinochet, Geoffrey Howe, Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, Meryl Streep …
Any David Slopland?
Alas no. Also a strange lack of canoe men!