Claimant Solicitor

My send off from Bolton was just as pleasant as the time I spent there. It also confirmed that some claimant lawyers really do fit a stereotype and are unpleasant creatures. To properly capture the experience, I will have to start from the beginning of the end of my time in Bolton. While this may, I admit, be somewhat tedious, I think it's necessary properly to describe the situation. And for my own cathartic purposes!

Finally, after four long weeks (thankfully I didn't spend all of them in Bolton!) my work matter finished at Thursday lunchtime. It was with some excitement and pleasure that I walked out of the building, took a breath of fresh air and waved goodbye to the Hot Diggedy Dog Stand. I did, unfortunately, then make the mistake of eating some of Bolton's finest cuisine - a choice that wrecked havoc on my stomach for the next 24 hours. But that aside, it was shaping up to be a wonderful afternoon.

I collected my luggage from the hotel (a rather large suitcase, bag of files and G's laptop) and made my way via taxi to the train station. Once at the train station, I expertly manoeuvred all of my luggage into the crowded train to Manchester. On my train was the claimant's solicitor. We politely chatted during the journey, and together watched some toddlers pretending to smoke their parents cigarettes, as the parents watched them proudly. Claimant Solicitor and I then got off the train together at Manchester Piccadilly to change onto the train to London.

Together, Claimant Solicitor and I approached the escalator we had to take to get to our correct platform. I heaved my case, laptop and bag of files onto the escalator. It was there that disaster stuck. Unbeknownst to me, my suitcase was straddling two steps of the escalator. As the escalator rose, and the steps separated out, my suitcase went flying down the stairs. So did G's laptop and my bag of files. Worst of all, I too went flying, and was pinned to the escalator steps by my suitcase. It was a rather packed escalator, and like dominos the old lady, two children and scary looking man behind me also went flying. Luckily children bounce, and the old lady was cushioned by their fall. The scary man was a bit worse off, with me and my suitcase on top of him, also pinning him to the steps. The escalator then seemed to be moving very quickly, and I started to panic. Luckily (I thought at the time) Claimant Solicitor was standing next to me, and I looked up, expecting to see him extend a hand and pull me to my feet. Instead, I saw he had turned his head and was pulling an "I don't know the crazy lady who just knocked you over" expression. I actually said in a sad little voice "help me!" at which point, realising his cover was blown, he proceeded to apologise to everyone on the escalator, while leaving me lying there. Thankfully, by this point, the two children had bounced up and helped the old lady up, who then lifted my case and helped me to my feet, enabling scary man to escape. She also collected G's (now rather dented) laptop. After apologising and thanking everyone profusely, I shuffled off to my train as quickly as I could to get away from scary man.

Once I got to the London train, I made a point of sitting in a different carriage from Claimant Solicitor.

I suppose it could have been worse - at least Claimant Solicitor didn't start handing out his business cards to the old lady, two children and scary man on the escalator.

No longer homeless

I am pleased to report that we have rented a new flat for a month, by which time we hope the flat we are purchasing will have settled and we can move into our nice new home. At least now, while we wait for settlement, we will not have to live under a bridge, at least not until after the end of August.

It has been a frantic few days, of trying to organise a short-term rental flat, find carpet cleaners for our current flat and removalists to ferry us and our numerous boxes of belongings from the current flat to the new one. We have to be out of the current flat by Monday, 3 August. All of this organising has, of course, been made even more difficult by the fact I am currently in Bolton while G is on a plane to Monaco (hurray to mobile phones and the Internet). But, finally, all seems to be booked and organised, leaving me free to enjoy the delights of Bolton.

I haven't seen our new one-month flat, but G saw it last night and assures me it is neither bug nor rat infested. We were so desperate yesterday, those two requirements became our sole criteria for finding a new flat. It's only a month, right? How bad can it be? I just hope I don't come to regret that optimism.

I expect entries on this blog will be somewhat sporadic for the next month, as G and I live without Internet, amongst packing boxes in our one-month flat. I will endeavour to update the blog as often as possible, even if that means I have to make the great sacrifice of using my working hours to do so.

In the meantime, I look forward to handing the keys to our current flat back to our landlord and saying goodbye to his hideous gold cockroach picture on the wall. I also look forward to no longer having to worry about our landlord letting himself into the house unannounced when we're not home (as he has in the past). Hopefully our one-month landlord will be tolerable.

Sunny Bolton

Once again I'm finding myself spending a week in sunny Bolton. While G gets exciting trips to Monaco for work, I get to spend most of my summer in Bolton.

For those of you unfamiliar with Bolton, it's a small town near Manchester in the UK. According to that ever-reliable source, Wikipedia, the population of Bolton is 139,403. Wikipedia also helpfully states the following of Bolton:

"Noted as a former mill town, textiles have been produced in Bolton since Flemish weavers settled in the area during the 15th century, developing a wool and cotton weaving tradition. The urbanisation and development of Bolton largely coincided with the introduction of textile manufacture during the Industrial Revolution. It was a boomtown of the 19th century and, at its zenith in 1929, 216 cotton mills and 26 bleaching and dying works, made it one of the largest and most productive centres of cotton spinning in the world. After World War I the British cotton industry declined sharply and by the 1980s cotton manufacture had virtually ceased in Bolton.

Bolton is today noted for its Premier League football club Bolton Wanderers who play from the Reebok Stadium, with Reebok, the sportswear company, being based in the town."

Clearly the entry in Wikipedia is written by a Boltonian and all of the factors that make Bolton unique are kindly omitted from the entry. Below are 10 facts you won't find about Bolton on Wikipedia:

1. the finest eatery in Bolton is the "hot diggedy dog stand";

2. only 4.7% of teens in Bolton under the age of 18 became pregnant last year. I looked that up on the NHS webpage, because I was sure I must have seen every pregnant teen in Bolton by the end of my first day here. Either someone has very bad maths and that statistic is wrong or I literally have seen every pregnant teenager in Bolton;

3. a quick survey of the town confirmed that there is a very serious and tough competition going for the title of "town drunk";

4. there is no point trying to be understood if you have an Australian accent. Just use hand gestures and point to indicate what it is you are after;

5. notwithstanding the very small size of Bolton, the people here clearly appreciate some of the finer things in life, as there are lots of very nice shoes for sale. That, or the people of Bolton don't buy very nice shoes, meaning they all go on sale;

6. all of those working in the service industry are exceedingly nice. At least compared to the grumpy shop assistants in London;

7. the local Bolton newspaper makes the Daily Mail look highbrow;

8. being vegetarian in Bolton will either leave you very fat or very thin, as you will find you have only a choice of cheese pizza or salad for dinner. On the upside, as it is necessary to wash down every dinner in Bolton with a large quantity of wine, if you chose the salad option, dinner will also leave you very drunk;

9. the local tattooists are be very, very rich, judging by the numerous and prominent displays of their works; and

10. Too much time in Bolton will turn you into a very bitter and grumpy blogger!

back amongst the packing boxes in london

Home in London at last! Although I'm now surrounded by packing boxes.

G and I are learning the hard way the trials and tribulations of the London property market. I may soon be posting this blog from inside a cardboard box.

So, how did this sorry tale begin? We decided to take advantage of others' misfortunes and purchase a flat. The one upside of the recession seemed to be that London flats became affordable. So, we traipsed around and saw numerous flats. In the process, we discovered a whole new language, where "popular block" = scary local authority housing block (BYO knife) and "full of character" = ensure you bring a stack hat and work boots to view the property.

Finally we found a great flat in Islington. Two bedrooms, roof-terrace, modern kitchen and affordable - it seemed a bargain! Admittedly it smelt like someone had been sitting in it for the last year repeatedly farting, but we assumed that smell would go with the current owner.

Unfortunately, what no one told us was that what we saved in money would more than be made up for in stress, as we are now on the painful path of negotiating with incompetent conveyancing lawyers, banks and more incompetent conveyancing lawyers. The lawyers can't tell us when we'll be able to "exchange contracts" (or have a done deal) and seem to be racking up the fees in all sorts of bizarre searches required by the bank. For example, did you know that in London, you have to pay someone to tell you whether your flat is in sufficiently close proximity to a church to require you (by statute) to contribute to the church's maintenance and upkeep? No, nor did I. We're learning all sorts of strange things in this process.

Our lawyer is also sadly the most incompetent man I've met. I telephoned him today to complain that he hadn't sent me the various documents I need to review, and which he promised he would send. His response: "you have to understand that this is the holiday time of the year, and most of the people in our office are on holiday"! Argh!!

So, by the time I next come to post on this blog, I may be a dribbling, crazy mess if this process drags out much longer. And a homeless mess as our lease is due to expire on 3 August and we have nowhere to live. So, look forward to reading posts from my cardboard box, as I wipe the drool from my chin and stab my little voodoo doll of a conveyancing lawyer with pins!

on a single bed in Bristol

Since everyone else seems to be doing it, why shouldn't I? So here I am, drafting my first post on my new blog. Admittedly, the reason everyone else may be blogging could have something to do with their much more exciting lives. This blog will instead chronicle my somewhat more mundane existence.

Right now I'm lying on a single bed at the Avon Gorge Hotel in Bristol. I'm in Bristol for work for the week.

The Avon Gorge Hotel is lovely. It overlooks the gorge and suspension bridge. I love Bristol and think it is a gorgeous city. It's so green and relatively peaceful (at least compared to London). And apparently my hotel exists, at least in part, thanks to the efforts of a George Newnes (surely a close relative!), who built the railway and pumped the Hot Well spring up through the steep rocks to the Clifton Grand Spa and Hydroponic Institution (which later became this hotel).

The hotel is apparently 4 star. So, why am I sitting on a single bed? That has a lot to do with the work travel budget, which seems to have remained exactly the same for the last 15 years. I gather this was the only room work could afford in the place. I think it's actually meant to be a child's room to form part of a family suite with the room next door, as there is a door adjoining it to the room next door. Thankfully that door is locked, but unfortunately it isn't soundproofed. The night before last I fell asleep listening to the sounds of the man next door snoring. I thought that bad, until that man moved out and was replaced with a couple and small child, who spent most of the night awake and crying.

Anyway, I warned you at the start that this blog would chronicle the mundane, and I'm pleased to say, at the end of my first post, that I haven't yet strayed from that goal!