Saturday: stroll through frosty streets for coffee and hot chocolates at a bistro in the new neighbourhood. Bump into friend and former colleague H. Someone who, as HR adviser, knows and was benignly involved in the details of your life overseas for several years. Someone you owe big time.
Taking photos and measurements at the new house in the afternoon. A couple of hours of interview prep. Slipping away to whatever quiet corner of the apartment you can find, in search of concentration time, only to be joined after five minutes by N and I with their impedimenta of pan lids, spatulas, toy trains.
At one point they tracked you to the front room where you had settled. They clambered and made a noise and you managed not to be distracted. Until you discovered didi scrawling with a blue biro on the fawn-colour suede couch next you. And you did lose your rag. “Didi!!!” It took 30 seconds to stalk to the kitchen for a scouring pad, grumbling bitterly. Then another two minutes of hot water and scrubbing and the ink came off. Didi forgiven, concentration resumed.
The kitchen at teatime
everyone’s here: nothing but noise