First up, I'm not feeling that great today. Stress makes me react rather oddly at the best of times and in addition I have been bolstering my system with large quantities of Carroty Nectar of an evening. Which although relaxing at the time, has the slight disadvantage of decreasing the effectiveness of the anti-depressant medication. Hence I feel too unwell to go out to my CBT session or post my eBay parcel at the Post Office. Ooops.
First thing, I spent a couple of hours looking at the pay software and rocking, whimpering slightly. B phoned mid-morning to ask how I was and picked up on the whimpering in my voice ... . He manfully phoned the Sarcastic Accountant (Pia, I think you're Dad was right, sarcasm is high up the 'required skills' part of the job description of all accountants) and then phoned me back with a quick-and-dirty solution to calculating the pay manually and getting it BACS'd out.
Sarcastic Accountant is going to come over some time next week and unravel the mess that between us the software and I have made of it all. I think I love him.
Next, the estate agent we put an offer in to for House Number One came back and asked for contact details for solicitors and financial advisors so that he can check our ability to make good our offer. This is fine ... but we have had no definite response from the vendors. And since we offered the asking price - because the house has only been on the market for a week - we are thinking that they are preparing to muck about and see if they can get a better offer from someone else.
Then to add spice to the whole thing, the estate agent for House Number Two on our list of likes came back to us and asked for feedback. We said the property was lovely but we had gone for another one in the same village that was a bit cheaper. The estate agent said that the vendor of her house would probably be prepared to accept an offer.
So in a fit of recklessness I put an offer in of the same price we put in for House Number One. And it's been accepted.
I feel slightly bemused.
And now, here is a parrot story.
One of the things we have enjoyed about the last couple of weeks house-hunting is all the interesting people we've met.
The inhabitants of House Number Three on our list of likes had a seven year old African Grey (sorry Stegbeetle, not a Norweigan Blue). B was enchanted by her and the enchantment seemed to be mutual. She was flirting with him heavily through the side of her cage and sticking her tounge out at him, which in parrot-language apparently means that you are right in there.
He was stroking her beak where she was poking it through the cage and generally chatting away to her and she was chatting back; not in English, just in Parrot, but clearly very engaged with the conversation.
I went out to the kitchen to ascertain the position of some bread-ovens that were hidden behind the wall cabinets ... and there was a squawk from B and a chatter from the parrot, shortly followed my Mrs Vendor coming in to the kitchen to get some plasters.
It had bitten his finger.
I am laughing as I type, I know I am a Bad Wife, but it was very funny indeed. The parrot had clearly drawn him in by lulling him in to a false sense of security and then nipped him, just to show him who was boss.
The vendors also told us a story about a parrot that they knew who was allowed to fly free and had flown in to the vicar's garden in their old village; when the vicar ambled out and greeted it, it responded to him with "Get back in your fucking cage, you!".
We would have bought their house on the strength of the parrot connections alone, but it was four miles from a post office.
So that's pretty much where we are today.
I think I might have a lie-down with Lord Peter Wimsey now and see if it clears my head a bit.
That is all.
UPDATE: Sorry Doris, I've put a link in! :). And added illuminating illustrations ...
Technorati Tags: house hunting, parrots, anti-depressants
Tuesday, 23 May 2006