T + 612. The cracks are starting to appear.

 Well here we go again another Monday morning spent waiting by the phone to see if our application for the house we viewed and offered for on Saturday has got any legs. I have progressively grown a thicker skin over the past couple of weeks and no longer feel the burning urge to hunt the Estate Agent down and crush their throats until their eyes pop if we don't get accepted for a place. Thing is you see the same guys each week so you can't really afford to piss anybody off.

The object of our desire

Going to the viewings can sometimes leave you with a bit of a funny taste in your mouth afterwards, - being a chap from the southern counties of the UK, I tend towards natural politeness (except with friends and family) and maybe some people get overly competitive, but I really have seen some Grade A sharp elbowed aresholes trying to ingratiate themselves with the Estate Agents on the day. There was one particularly pushy prick at the 3rd viewing we attended on Saturday, he was mobbing the Agent with his paperwork - bank statements, credit card statements, mobile phone bills, personal references etc I think I even saw his certificate for the 100 metres front crawl when he was 8. The geezer was stomping around the house loudly declaiming to his wife where their furniture was going to go, he was a real bell end.

What he hadn't realised was that at some point earlier in the day his fat arse had split completely through his the back of his shorts and his hairy white butt cheeks were playing peek a boo out the back - it kind of put the dampers on his 'top boy' act - Jeannette and I took great delight in keeping schtum about it. I kept myself amused by making very loud juvenile comments about what a cracking house it was, - asking about the ring main and musing that it was a bummer that there was no air conditioning, just ceiling fans. It is of course entirely possible that this was another tactic on his part - you know, to scare people off touching door knobs thinking maybe he'd had a scratch but I could be over (anal)ysing. I've probably got completely the wrong attitude - but I find it a bit demeaning to be seen to be 'trying too hard' - you've got to have a bit of self awareness and grace about this kind of thing.

Just heard from Jeannette at work - the Estate Agents have been on the blower to her boss to confirm that he is her boss and that she is employed where she says she is, which is further along the process than we've got before. Hope they don't try and get references for me - not that they'd be negative, it's just that I left the company 3 years ago and Transport for London is such a huge organisation that I wouldn't know where to start if I were trying to get a reference - let alone someone based 10k miles away in a different time zone.

Mrs has just been on the phone again, EA's wanting more background info on us and on Wellie - I'm forcing myself to feel negative about this because I don't want the kick in balls feeling if we don't get it - the thought that Mr 'Arse-Me-Out' Trousers could get it over us would really be just too much.

We had some storms and high winds over the weekend and as I write all I can hear outside is chain saws and wood shredders going off around the neighbourhood as the clean up starts.

In an effort to be a better Dad I'm doing more varied 'stuff' in the daytimes with Milo. We did Putt Putt Golf last week and we're kicking off this week with 10 pin bowling. I'm psyching myself up and hoping it doesn't end up with tears and another public tantrum. Just can't help it though - I fucking hate it when my ball drops into the gutter at the last second.

So we're off to do that and I'll update soon.

Oh and here's another FB repost just for posterity.

I'm a bad father and I'm going to go to Hell. At Clontarf Beach today trying to get Milo to write his name in the sand. He's not interested. So I said look, if I trace the letters in really lightly with my stick, you can go over them afterwards with your stick and it will look like you're writing them. All of a sudden he's interested so I trace the letters out lightly and leave him happily to it.

When he finished he came running proudly up the beach to take me back down to see his writing. To give him his due , it did look fairly impressive scratched in 24" high letters across the beach;

MILO STOREY SMELLS

I'm just sad that we didn't have a camera to hand so I could show you the expression on his little face as he was standing proudly next to it.



*******STOP THE FRIGGING PRESS**************

Ahem - er - We got the house - so suck on that Mr Bumcrack. I fang yew.