Chapter 35: Chapter 1
My mum once told me that the key to a successful house move lay in the preparation of a special box containing tea bags, kettle, mugs, UHT milk and biscuits. With tea and biscuits you could take on the world, she always said. I thought that she was talking total bollocks and have always refused to prepare such a middle-aged sounding invention but, having rooted through seven different boxes in a bid to find the kettle, I started to consider that she might have been right. Not that I’ll tell her that of course, I’d never hear the end of it if I did! It was starting to get dark and it was then, as I flicked a light switch, that I realised the power wasn’t even on yet. The electric kettle would have been totally useless. I guess that makes it one-nil to me. Ha!
Forty-five minutes and thirteen matches later, I found an ancient looking fuse box under the stairs. I like to think I’m pretty resilient and what I lack in ability I make up for with stubbornness so, despite its Dickensian appearance, I opened the box and was rewarded, seconds later, as my cute little cottage was flooded with light. Feeling triumphant, I grabbed my phone and blasted Slade’s, I wish it could be Christmas at full volume, because sure, I may not know where the kettle is but my phone is never far away and with it, music for dancing. I threw myself around the room with wild abandon. I was hundreds of miles away from anyone who knew me, no friends or family with whom to celebrate the upcoming season and, right at that moment, it felt amazing.
After waltzing round the room to Fairytale of New York, I collapsed into a chair and took a look around me. Less amazing was the plethora of oversized boxes still waiting to be dealt with and I realised I had a choice. With Christmas just a few days away I could either work like a dog to get the boxes unpacked and hope that I had enough energy left to string up some decorations, or I could simply hide the boxes under a mountain of tinsel and deal with the cardboard in January. Lazy toad that I am, I opted for the latter, not that I had any tinsel or fairy lights yet, that would be a job for tomorrow. When moving to a new area one must pace oneself, stretch out the jobs so you don’t run out of things to keep you occupied. I’d read How To Win Friends And Influence People seven or eight times in the lead up to this move and that is the one tip Mr Carnage missed. If it wasn’t for the minor inconvenience of him being dead I’d have written and told him but, alas, it was not to be. Instead I had to content myself with the knowledge that I was as prepared as I possibly could be for this new adventure, get a good night’s sleep and see what tomorrow would bring. As I turned off the light I shivered. Please let this be it.
I woke to the sound of a dripping noise coming from somewhere suspiciously close to the end of my bed. I lay there for a minute, willing myself to get up and investigate but my feet, all cosy and warm, felt like lead. I wished I could stay tucked up and have someone else come and fix it all for me. When I could delay the inevitable no longer, I wrestled my feet into slippers and went to find the source of the drip. I didn’t have far to look. Water, presumably rain, although it had stopped now thankfully, was dripping through my bedroom ceiling. After I’d got a bowl from the kitchen to catch the drips and put a coat on over my PJs, I went outside to peer up at the roof. I’m not really sure what I was expecting to be able to see. Yes the cottage was small but it wasn’t so tiny that I could see on top of the roof. It was pretty windy though so I mumbled to myself something about dislodged roof slates and added “Find a builder” to the list in my head.
After a miserable breakfast of milk and bread, I decided that unpacking the kettle and toaster were also top of today’s list, but not before I fixed the roof and bought Christmas decorations. The little village I’d moved myself to was unlikely to have a supermarket so I knew I’d probably have to head out in the car for decorations. That immediately pushed the roof issue to the top of the agenda and so it was, some half an hour later, that I found myself walking through the village I hoped to soon call home. Gloddfa Bont. I said the words out loud a couple of times, letting the funny sounding Welshness of it amuse me. I knew from what little research I’d done that the village was built on two sides of a rather large hill. My cottage was on the sunny side, according to the estate agent, although I was yet to be convinced. I remembered a petrol station and shop I’d passed yesterday in the very bottom of the valley so, having decided that the village shop was almost certainly the heart of any self-respecting community, I pointed my feet in that direction and trudged down the hill.
Approximately forty-seven seconds later, the heavens opened again and I soon found myself drenched. This was my first visit to Wales since coming here on holiday as a kid but memories of suitcases packed to bursting with both summer dresses and wellington boots, and needing both within the same hour, forced me to smile, despite the cold. Spotting the garage and attached shop in the distance, I zipped up my coat and made a dash for it. I crashed through the door, gasping for breath, before my boots gave up their grip and I found myself landing with a thud next to a pair of muddy trainers.
“Well that was gracefully done. You must be Amy?”