Dear God,
You’d think I’d know by now: in any project, always include contingency for some fuckwit to fuck something up. Also, that something is bound to be the thing that makes everything else fucking happen.
So yeah, there I was merrily organising the transfer of all utilities known to man, the moving from one London Borough Council to another (even though we are moving less a mile) and all associated Council Tax arsey gumpf, I even sorted the cleaner for the end of tennancy spruce up at current random beige maisonette. By some miracle I also got us out of the Virgin Media contract without penalty because they can’t supply the same level of service (even though we are moving less than a mile). And yesterday me and Science Guy spent the day happily shopping for non-essential items (vegetable Elvis glass chopping board anyone?) because we are both so bloody excited about the impending move. This Friday.
And then the fuckwits at the moving company go and fuck it up. Yes I know their letter states that upon importation it takes 7-10 days to deliver to us. And I know that our goods have now been in the country for over a week, and have passed through customs. And I checked with them last week to confirm we are good for delivery this Friday. And so I called this morning to double confirm before booking my leave. And this is when the bloke said yeah sorry love but it isn’t going to happen this week.
I was calm, reasoned and surprisingly un-sweary. (I went into work mode). Because we all know that the monkey on the end of the phone has the soul-sucking task of moving paper around a flawed process. He has no power to influence the situation. So I calmly explained, empathised even that this was not his fault personally, but that he represented Allied Pickfords (aforementioned fuckwits) and therefore was my experience of their shit service. He did say he would write in highlighter pen on our file ‘process first’. Which is great, but for fucks sake the hold-up is not even with him and we had discussed this 3 times (as I said: monkey).
When I was put through to the organ grinder, there was a mild improvement. He had the phone number of the dudes in the warehouse where the backlog is. Still, God you heard the man, at the very earliest all worldly possessions will be delivered to us at the end of next week. You know, more than a week after we were had agreed with Allied Fuckwit Pickfords Movers and three days before he arrives. And I am so fucking stressed out about that, I could at any moment lose my sweet mind. So if there is anything you can do, you know, to get everything to us by even early next week, just so I have a few days to breath, I would be ever so grateful.
Love,
Sas
Comments
All that’s required is a lifetime of worship, fasting and total sexual abstinence. God isn’t very demanding.
We’ll discuss my commission later.
Aw sas! I can see why you’re stressed! Well done for not screaming obscenities at the monkey and his organ-grinder!
I hope everything gets sorted out soon for you, and in the meantime … go with the gin, as recommended by the girl ;)
I agree with Jo but also the sentiments of Sandy, the best of luck to you.
By the way, excellent blog!
Just don’t do what we did and move yourselves. Don’t. Ever. Wait for Pickfords and go stay somewhere nice. All will be well and all manner of things will be well. Or something like that. As long as you don’t do it yourselves. I’m still getting flashbacks and it’s been a month.
Ah, I see that you have been a victim of the ruthless Murphy’s Law.
All the best with the moving, hopefully something will clear up and your stuff will be brought to you earlier than you expect it.
Cheers!
The temptation to drown anger in gin must be enormous. Or to drown Pickfords in gin. One of the two. At least you’ll have your Elvis chopping board upon which you can chop them into little pieces.
I’ll see what I can do. You may have to pray a bit more.
—God
@Simon: Am I to understand you are God’s pimp? Please advise if s/he accepts ‘sweetner’ payments.
My darling sas, Sod’s Law can go sod itself. I am crossing everything on my person that can be crossed and hoping like fuck that this gets sorted out as soon as possible. You and the lovely SG deserve every happiness in your new home together, so I wish the bloody universe would get on board here and deliver, on both the happiness, and the household goods. And hugs for the impending arrival, too. Lots and lots of love, dear lady. Remember: there’s always gin.