Pride comes before the fall, they say, so it’s probably only right that I slipped over this morning and fell flat on my back. I had, after all, been quite proud of getting around that ice rink last night without doing just that. It wouldn’t have been so embarassing if I hadn’t done it in front of a policeman, but I did, and so my shame was only complete when he sprinted over to pick me up.
The irony is that despite the fact we had 2cm of snow last night (or, ‘the worst snow in London for years’, as one paper put it), this all happened in a subway where no snow has fallen for the last half century. Admittedly there was skiddy nastiness on the floor, which I got all over my hands and jeans, but still… a silly excuseless act.
In other news, I got the survey back from the new house. Well, the second house. It’s a little over 60 years old, so nowhere near as old as the first one that failed its survey so miserably (and expensively), but even so the difference is striking.
This new house was build in 1948, yet it seems to be rock solid, has barely shifted in the last 60 years, is dry, has good plumbing, is warm and, generally, seems to be worth the asking price.
It’s a relief, I’ll admit, as there is so little for sale around here within a reasonable (walkable) distance of the station, so if this one turned out to be little more than an asbestos-filled wood and brick skeleton I’d have had nowhere else to look for the foreseeable future.
As such, let the wagons roll. Legal searches, here we come.
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