Up to my eyes in dampness.
Mould everywhere.
Getting ready to move on.
And as I filled black sacks with stuff from twenty years
of bungalow living my wounded heart filled with good blood and carried me.
My husband visits occasionally so we can discuss estate agents and in both our eyes, sadness.
I can't go into our sob ridden exchanges suffice to say we come eventually to a sort of quiet resolution.
I hope in the fullness of time (whatever that is) we reach a nicer place where Mr H and I can look at each other without blubbing.
Later on, much late on, probably sometime in the summer, I would be willing to hold out the adult hand of 'understanding' and maybe engage in grown up talk with Mr H and his girlfriend. But I've been informed that the girlfriend wouldn't be willing to engage in any such action. Which I find strange considering she'll be in a far nicer frame of mind. Money always has that effect...
But I mustn't be bitter. Does one no good. My whole self is concentrating on two things: Going to the cardiac clinic being one and managing the whole house moving experience. Rob is being superman, as usual, and inbetween working, hanging out with his son, he's helping me empty rooms.
Once the bungalow is sold I'll be able to concentrate on making a new life with him and Monty. Aint gonna be a doddle but we will do our best.
Our aim is to be out of here and in our caravan, Two Ducks, by the middle of March. The estate agent, Neil, will handle the viewings.

When I'm ready I will probably start a new blog.....the Bungalow days are over!
Until then I'll post when I can, I get a wee bit tired now so try to manage my time efficiently.
I've missed blogging, it has always been therapeutic and oh boy do I need therapy!

Now I eat....