Moving to The Ritz

Those of you who know me will be aware that delayed gratification is not my thing. If I want something I want it IMMEDIATELY.

However, this August seems to be all about toiling away and being sensible. Laying the foundations, toiling and saving. I know it'll all be worth it in the end, but for now, it has put me in an extremely Bad Mood.

In the past seven days I have:

- Proofed the novel
- Carried out photo shoot and sent off images to publisher (only 3 months late)
- Cleared copyright for quoting 4 lines of a Cole Porter song in book (and paying £550 for the privilege, grr)
- Re-coded and edited 856 pages of a BBC website (dull, dull, dull)
- Converted advice leaflets for refugees on sexual health into 17 languages (photoshop)
- Taken on responsibility for a highly-strung cat (miaow)
- Fought with estate agents and finally managed to put flat on market (lying bastards)
- Moved worldly goods out of flat and into storage unit (soulless)

Am EXHAUSTED!

As I was packing up my things, I thought of what William Morris once famously said: “Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful.”

That’s all very well when one is a master craftsman and all your friends are major pre-Raphaelite artists.

I looked around at my belongings (seventeen bin bags filled with, amongst other things, a top hat from the 1860s, a seventeenth century wench frock, a ginger wig and a baby’s travel cot) and marvelled at how, aged 35, I still:

- Own nothing of any value, except sentimental (confirmed by copious tears over old photos and letters, holding up the moving process by some hours, Marjorie)
- Have no decent luggage (although plenty of baggage – as evidenced above)
- Haven’t learned to bring newspaper to wrap things up when moving

Perhaps I’ll just throw away the key to the storage unit and go and live in a hotel.

Yes, I think that would be best.