So the terrible Goddess who is terribly efficient and can spell and can put apostrophes in the right place, has been arranging change of address notifications to the world and his wife. Unfortunately the world and his wife seem to suffer from date dyslexia. So far four different really important contacts have got it wrong.
We've had emails hoping the move went well, insurance cancelled, electricity and gas nearly cut off and, most annoyingly, our mail has been redirected to the new address. This has meant that some REALLY IMPORTANT legal stuff that we have to sign, has been forwarded to our new address. Consequently our new address might not be our new address.



I have taken the route of oblivion via the bottle of malt whisky and the TG has taken the manly route of telephoning all the idiots to try and sort everything out. The trouble is that when I get into a telephone routeing system my multi-tasking skills disintegrate. Of course, this is an exaggeration, I have no multi-tasking skills - I'm a peabrain. ("I'm a woman, W_O_M_A_N, I'll say it again." Sorry, that is sooo obvious and Peggy Lee does it better, but I couldn't resist it. Lo, TG Ed.).

The TG has just come into the room having been on the phone to the mail re-direction department. Apparently, now we aren't moving at all, never, ever and can they call back. We don't know, can they? Probably the telephone has been cut off and we live in the Outer Hebrides.
I can hear her talking now....................would it be best if I ran and hid [In the case of her having met with complete idiocy.]? Or have another tipple [in all other cases]?
She's here now.......................I'm off to the shed with the bottle.........it's not my fault!

Nice Louise [they are all terribly nice and it is never their fault] from the Royal [I wonder if the Queen has this problem, probably not.] Mail re-direction service assures me that the previous incorrect correction has now been... corrected.
Will the postman ring twice tomorrow? We'll see. Lo, TG Ed.