That's Our Lot

Freya went to a birthday sleep over on Friday after school. Her friend's mum had around 20 girls stay the night. She must be mental. We were a little worried that Freya would have a rough time as she'd not been away from home over night before, but she was fine. Apparently she woke up at about 5AM missing mummy, but after a quick chat she was OK. Imogen went to a volleyball session organised by school at the Mount Activity Centre and cunningly managed to avoid piano practice as a result.

Rhiannon spent Saturday lurking in the Mount with her mate, whose parents run a pizza takeaway. She'd skipped off rather early and we weren't expecting her until late. Apparently the temperature in the shop was too much to handle and I got a text to come and pick her up at 6.

We spent Saturday afternoon on the beach. Not much sign of the weed that made things rather slippery last time out, but the waves weren't much use either. After we'd got in and finally got Phoebe out of the shower (I'm sure she's half mermaid), Imogen was spotted doing her piano practice without having been reminded. Hurrah!

Sunday involved rock pooling in the pools round the mount. A fair collection of snails, hermit crabs, shrimps, starfish and crabs were collected. Phoebe had brought her back pack, but we couldn't work out why. It turns out that it contained not just her bathing costume and goggles, but several tupperware jugs and about ten packets of crisps. The jugs were apparently for catching fish. The pièce de résistance, however, was the cold sore cream. She'd brought it just in case anyone had one on the beach!

Not long after we'd got back, we had a call from an estate agent. He told us that he'd been appointed to sell the house we're living in at auction. Arse. Apparently the auction will be on the 18th March, which is rather poor timing. We are considering buying the place as it will make a good rental property, but the valuation he's quoting is way more than it's worth when you compare other properties in the locale which give you more for less. Our contract locks us in until the end of March and we're on a six seek notice period. We are therefore expecting to get our marching orders any day now. Who exactly we get these from remains a mystery. One would assume that it would come from the rental agent, but as nobody except us is talking to them it seems unlikely. The landlord is presumably no longer in the frame, since the bank (which one, there are two mortgages) must have ownership now otherwise how could they sell what's not actually theirs? The bank of course has no idea who we are and probably does not know who the rental agent is. It's a right old mess. The timing of the auction means that if we do decide to bid and we're unsuccessful, we will have less than two weeks to find somewhere else assuming we do get notice to quit. If on the other hand we do find somewhere else, then we might end up renting a place and also end up buying this one. It should be an interesting week.

Rhiannon went out in the evening to watch Avatar at the cinema with her mates from school, and then they went to a restaurant afterwards. She didn't have enough money, so she did her best to prise some out of my pocket. It came at a price, namely 1/2 hour on the guitar with me providing some "tuition". This basically consisted of me being shouted at when trying to explain something and lots of tears and complaints about what a horrible father I am. She is clearly back to her old self. Progress, of a sort, was made and $20 made its appearance in her back pocket. However, when she returned, having spent only $10, the other $10 returned whence it came accompanied by complaints of theft, fraud and deceit. Naturally she'd forgotten that she was supposed to be using pocket money for this little sojourn and the extra was a treat.

Craig still has a monster monk on and is still not talking to anybody. He keeps looking at accommodation on the Internet, but apparently it's all too expensive or too grotty to contemplate which only adds to his gregarious demeanour.