The keys to the street

Well as you may know, last week was the big move, so it’s now all change for me. This may come as a surprise but I don’t embrace change well. Challenges are fine, I like trying new things, but actual change causes untold bouts of tears and tantrums. Therefore I am officially calling the big move a challenge not a change (Keeping in mind my previous sentence I suspect Mr F would agree with my terminology, it’s a good job I’ve found a patient boy!)

Anyway the challenge is now complete with the help of one man and his van (which was actually two men but one van) It is incredible the amount of stuff two grown adults can accumulate without even realising it. The first van load consisted mainly of books, which have now filled our spare room. I suspect even Mr F was rather shocked by the amount of books I have. Mind you he couldn’t really complain, at least not once I saw the extent of his Tupperware collection. I should point out here as I wouldn’t want to ruin his reputation, his Tupperware collection was second only to his booze stash – we all know which one I’ll be making the most use of.

Of course a new street means new neighbours. I’m pleased to say we have moved into a very nice quiet area. Mainly because I suspect we have accidently accepted the role of wardens in a sheltered housing project. The average age so far looks to be around 112. Our neighbour on the right seems nice, and luckily if we decide to have any wild parties there will be no complaints from him as he is deaf as a post. I’ve not yet met the neighbour on our left, although he did have a rather long chat with the man from Sky Tv. Apparently he wanted to know how he could get a security system installed like ours. Obviously he thinks that our sky dish is actually used for detecting ballistic missiles rather than just picking up Coronation Street.

As always, at least on every street I’ve ever lived on, there are the usual parking wars. On this street it seems that the instigator is Mr Van Man (no relation to our removal firm) Usually Mr Van Man parks opposite our house, which is annoying in itself. Sunday morning we heard him up and about early getting into said van. I’d assumed he was off to work, until closer inspection revealed he had actually just moved it to park in front of his own house. Why I hear you ask (unless you are a member of my family and you will therefore no doubt have guessed the answer) Being a long standing observer of parking wars, it was a standard tactic of obstruction. Their neighbours were having visitors and obviously at some point in the past had dared to park in front of Mr and Mrs Van Man. Therefore Mr Van Man must get his van there first to ensure that it can’t happen again, thereby in his head winning the battle that week.

It just goes to show that it really doesn’t matter where you live as nothing changes that much. The same petty squabbles go on in street after street. I may have swopped the Hilda’s for the Harold’s but I suspect that the gender change is the only real difference (that and I now have enough Tupperware to freeze the entire cake production from a Great British Bake Off)

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