Insurance, Weird Dreams, A Giant Aviary and A New Insult

What a shocking night's sleep last night. After falling asleep on the couch watching TV with my beloved, it should have been simple: teeth brushed and then back to the business of sleep, but instead it became thinking and over thinking and oh my, an hour has passed and I'm still thinking. There are way too many things going on in my head and I just want to escape them all.

I had some pretty crazy dreams the last couple of nights too. I discovered after living in the same place for ten years, that we had an awning outside, which meant we could convert half the garden into a shelter and have dinner outside even it was raining. We set all that up and lo and behold it did start raining. Then loads of people came for dinner, including a very close friend of mine, who turned up with her first ever boyfriend - who she split up with years ago - and three kids that she had supposedly given birth to yesterday. I congratulated her on how great she looked and we discussed the fact that she was only meant to have twins, so who was the extra child? The three kids were enormous and could already walk, despite being born yesterday. Freaky. One had jet black hair, one had white blonde hair, and the other had half jet black, half white blonde.

I mean, what the crap is wrong with my subconscious?

Anyhoo, we have a new lodger in Flat 19. It's alive, it makes weird sounds, it makes a mess all over the kitchen and its name is Spencer. Yes, you guessed it, it's a sourdough starter from San Francisco and it's A's new obsession.

I'm not going to lie to you, Rants is not a huge fan. It makes all these weird clicks and gurgles, and when you're in the flat by yourself it can freak you out. But he could have worse hobbies. And at least we get bread out of it.

We have heard that the joyous scaffolding will remain until February, so there goes any chance of appreciating the clouds, enjoying the balcony seat or enjoying the view. But it has now become less a squirrel's playground and more a giant aviary. If it's not pigeons, it's gulls, which make a racket at 3.30am, 5.30am and sometimes throughout the day. Then it is the ones that I only ever hear and never see. The gulls that laugh, you know the ones, 'ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha ha.' I can tell you, it's not fucking funny. And then there are the ones that aren't even melodic, they're more of a percussive dunk or click. And they have a habit of sitting close enough to send all their annoying, distracting sounds my way, whilst staying out of sight, so I can't throw things at them, or bash on the windows and scare them.

Did you know, you can't kill a gull? I didn't until I googled it. No, apparently they are protected. I mean the swans I get, they're majestic and beautiful and their babies are adorable, but really? Gulls?
I created a new insult for the gulls, which I am quite proud of. I tend to sing it to them when they're at their most irritating: You little shit bag wanker fucks.

I've been told that I now need third party liability insurance to continue working at the nurseries, after six years of music classes, so I'm in the throws of figuring out what the hell that is, and attempting to find a quote. But then they ask you all these intelligent questions that you don't know the answers to, and I blagged it best I could, after all, I was only on money supermarket looking for a quote...

The phone rings twenty minutes later. 'Hi it's blah, blah, blah, from blah, blah, blah, about your quote for insurance. Ahhhh. They're watching me. I completely panicked and garbled some nonsense about not knowing if I ticked the right boxes and wanting to discuss it with my partner because I think I might have done it all wrong and I didn't understand half of it. And he's saying, well I can help you with that. And all I'm thinking is, I'm trying to write a scene of my novel and I feel like you're going to try and push me into doing something I don't want to, and I can't get off the phone quick enough.

Oh well, time to return to the novel. These scenes don't write themselves. Shame.

Rants