Things He Brought With Him.

Oh yes. Slowly but surely the man is moving in, if not in body then at least in terms of turning my once bijoux bohemian cottage into something Steptoe wouldn't turn his nose up at... So dull things like pasting tables and car alternators are living in my dining room: the porch is full of engine oil, and the bedroom resplendant with more computers than one man could ever possibly need. Readers my heart and my head are banging in fright, because his own house isn't even half empty yet, and yet empty it must be if he is to rent it out and move his mind, body and soul eight miles up the road by the day of the wedding. Which surely means there is more to come...

Hell yeah there's more. There's the ugly big speakers he's insisting on bring. A stack of Men's Health magazines he has clearly been collecting since he was three, a set of knives he will one day no doubt slice my moaning throat with and last but not least, my Dears, the much dreaded cats, Nimbus and Socks, who are cute when they live twenty minutes down the road but surely not so much when they finally arrive here in all their furry, noisy, clawing, slobbering glory. Oh lordy, I am DREADING it and kicking up a bit of a stink in favour of the kind of compromise that says one cat is enough in a pint-sized cottage and the other could, I'm sure, go live with his sister who refers to Richards feline friends as "the babies". No really. The Babies. Somebody shoot me. She is forty two with three all grown up human babies of her own!

So thank heavens there is a smidgen of pretty to save the day. I LOVE the coffee pot now gracing the blue bookshelf and do believe that little Crown Devon pot is just begging for a certain person to go pluck me a rose from the garden to grace it, and truth be told I have even grown somewhat fond of Major John, currently to be found presiding over the fireplace and who will, rumour has it, rule this house with a military iron fist once his great grandson has got that wedding ring firmly jammed on to my finger. Heaven help me.

And then there is this. Hmmmm. A Francesco vase in all it curly scary splendour. It's not exactly me. I don't know whether to love it or hate it. ( Thoughts?) So until I decide it's staying right here and avoiding the fate of all Richards remaining belongings currently being shifted into storage, until the universe shifts on its axis and offers us a house big enough to allow him to keep them in a locked room right there in our precious family home...

Heck. He's going to kill me when he reads this.

On My Wishlist...