New flat, which doesn’t apparently exist (or: Robert McNicol practices his split infinitives)
Hello one and both! So as you’ll know I’ve been curiously absent of late. Well, it’s all vaguely due to having moved home. I’m now a Kemptonite/Kemptowner/Kemptownan and have regained the fine distinction of living actually in Brighton (BN2 baby! Read it and weep!)
However, it’s been a mildly arduous transition, especially the part where Pa and I tried to get the sofa in. And succeeded, I should add. It’s what dads are for, you know. Anyway, I’ve shirked the irksome telly but have yet to get a proper interweb connection (how am I doing this, I hear you ask? I’ll let you draw your own conclusions) and I’ve managed to get sidetracked by soft furnishings – to the detriment of my bank balance as well as this dear blog.
Rest assured, however, that I am due a proper commection at the end of the month, and am musing over the notion of acquiring a Proper Camera. All in all, you’re going to get some real treats soon. Just hang on in there whilst I co-ordinate my curtains.
Oh! I totally forgot to tell you the not-so-funny story to which I alluded in the blog post. It’s barely worth it now, but anyway… So the Post Office don’t believe my flat exists (I tried to get broadband from them) even though Royal Mail say that it does. How d’you like them apples?