all’ – he wasn’t quite that kind of Irishman). And what did I mean by the crack in the lintel over the range? The stone looked perfectly okay to him. The floor-to-ceiling split in the bedroom wasn’t as bad as I’d indicated, either; it could easily be repaired. There were one or two rotted windowframes that would need replacing, but for the life of him he couldn’t locate the dangerous stairboard. The roof certainly needed fixing, unless I liked sleeping under the stars, but the water tank wasn’t too badly rusted; however, he advised replacing that to save problems later.
I don’t know if I was more taken aback at finding such an honest builder, or at apparently having exaggerated Gramarye’s failings. Whichever, it was good news, if puzzling. I instructed O’Malley to carry on with whatever he felt was necessary, and returned to stringing the guitar, mystified yet chuffed at the same time.
I told Midge the news when she returned from her shopping trip, drenched from the rain, hair matted flat around her face. She stood there, dripping on the carpet, her expression one of bewilderment. We had written the list together from notes we’d made on one of our trips to the cottage, so there was no question of overactive imagination on my part. I remember remarking at the time that the defects were not as bad as I’d first thought, but they were still there , and very apparent. We discussed the mystery throughout the day and into the evening, but still hadn’t reached any satisfactory conclusion by bedtime. We fell asleep still wondering.
Too busy to consider it much over the next few days: I was tied up with recording sessions, mainly for advertising jingles – very lucrative – and Midge had embarked on a series of illustrations for a new book – something of a departure for her this time because it was for farmhouse recipes. We also had to organize our future lives: sending out change-of-address cards, arranging for electricity and the phone to be switched back on at the cottage, the cesspit to be cleared, signing cheques for this, that, and God knows what else, buying odd bits of furniture we’d need, having a brand new electric cooker installed . . . the list went on.
Bob managed to find me, at a low cost, an unemployed Ford Cargo Box 3-tonner, usually used for transporting musical equipment to and from gigs, plus a couple of humpers to go with it (humpers are the trolls who manhandle massive amplifiers, etc. from show to show), so a professional removal company wasn’t necessary.
Moving Day was set and Midge and I declined any further engagements or commissions for a whole month. We figured it would take all of that time at least to get straight, and although we weren’t exactly flush with cash after all the outgoings we certainly had enough to carry us through – the gods had been very kind. Midge’s posters had been accepted by the kiddies’-wear people, by the way, and under Big Val’s financial terms of 2¼ per cent interest for non-payment two weeks after delivery date (you had to be good to get away with this) the fee was already in the bank. My session work was paid on a three-hourly basis and gratefully received at the end of each day’s or half-day’s work.
It was a fine morning for a change on Moving Day and we stood in our now empty apartment, the van loaded and waiting downstairs. We were suddenly wistful: we’d had good times in this place, even though we’d yearned for something more, something that would be our own. And love had deepened here.
We hugged each other and took one long, last, look around. Then we left.
With the humpers following close behind in the van, we drove down to Hampshire, the New Forest, and Gramarye.
In
By six o’clock that evening the humpers, with tenners in their pockets and tired grins on their faces, were gone, leaving Midge and me alone in Gramarye.
Standing at the door, we watched the empty 3-tonner disappear around the curve in the road,
I don’t know if I was more taken aback at finding such an honest builder, or at apparently having exaggerated Gramarye’s failings. Whichever, it was good news, if puzzling. I instructed O’Malley to carry on with whatever he felt was necessary, and returned to stringing the guitar, mystified yet chuffed at the same time.
I told Midge the news when she returned from her shopping trip, drenched from the rain, hair matted flat around her face. She stood there, dripping on the carpet, her expression one of bewilderment. We had written the list together from notes we’d made on one of our trips to the cottage, so there was no question of overactive imagination on my part. I remember remarking at the time that the defects were not as bad as I’d first thought, but they were still there , and very apparent. We discussed the mystery throughout the day and into the evening, but still hadn’t reached any satisfactory conclusion by bedtime. We fell asleep still wondering.
Too busy to consider it much over the next few days: I was tied up with recording sessions, mainly for advertising jingles – very lucrative – and Midge had embarked on a series of illustrations for a new book – something of a departure for her this time because it was for farmhouse recipes. We also had to organize our future lives: sending out change-of-address cards, arranging for electricity and the phone to be switched back on at the cottage, the cesspit to be cleared, signing cheques for this, that, and God knows what else, buying odd bits of furniture we’d need, having a brand new electric cooker installed . . . the list went on.
Bob managed to find me, at a low cost, an unemployed Ford Cargo Box 3-tonner, usually used for transporting musical equipment to and from gigs, plus a couple of humpers to go with it (humpers are the trolls who manhandle massive amplifiers, etc. from show to show), so a professional removal company wasn’t necessary.
Moving Day was set and Midge and I declined any further engagements or commissions for a whole month. We figured it would take all of that time at least to get straight, and although we weren’t exactly flush with cash after all the outgoings we certainly had enough to carry us through – the gods had been very kind. Midge’s posters had been accepted by the kiddies’-wear people, by the way, and under Big Val’s financial terms of 2¼ per cent interest for non-payment two weeks after delivery date (you had to be good to get away with this) the fee was already in the bank. My session work was paid on a three-hourly basis and gratefully received at the end of each day’s or half-day’s work.
It was a fine morning for a change on Moving Day and we stood in our now empty apartment, the van loaded and waiting downstairs. We were suddenly wistful: we’d had good times in this place, even though we’d yearned for something more, something that would be our own. And love had deepened here.
We hugged each other and took one long, last, look around. Then we left.
With the humpers following close behind in the van, we drove down to Hampshire, the New Forest, and Gramarye.
In
By six o’clock that evening the humpers, with tenners in their pockets and tired grins on their faces, were gone, leaving Midge and me alone in Gramarye.
Standing at the door, we watched the empty 3-tonner disappear around the curve in the road,
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