Sunday, 25 September 2011
The first flat rented was fully furnished; nonetheless, I have managed to collect additional goods that will require a furgoneta for transport across town to my new digs.
There are items that I bought immediately upon moving to Madrid…
2 years ago in February! How time flies!
… which seemed immediately necessary: a Wii, a set of fixed line telephones, a scanner/printer, a hoover,and an exercise ball.
The Wii, used so infrequently that the batteries required for operation have been moved to other appliances, and it lies dormant beneath the landlord’s T.V. The hoover has been indispensable for keeping The Dog's hair manageable. The scanner/printer, a professional requirement, has been the least frustrating printer I've ever owned with a relatively stress-free cartridge-changing processes. The exercise ball has been used primarily as a foot rest when lounging on the sofa. It was poorly inflated (by me) from the start and is an ugly, dull gray. It never quite inspired like its taut, blue British sibling.
Other items I have acquired along the way: 2 5 litre jugs of olive oil pressed on the oil farm of a work colleagues of The Man, a proper tea kettle to avoid careless burns to the hands, a potato peeler to peel Thanksgiving potatoes and yams, a vinoteca (now empty – I drink too much, too fast!), a spatula, a bucket, various items of clothing and skin care products. These things will all be moved at the end of the week, and I suppose I will then be more comfortably installed in a more permanent capacity in a new neighbourhood in Madrid. I look forward to the (temporary*) end of limbo.
*Limbo seems to always come back around.
Posted by Ellie at 21:04
Thursday, 8 September 2011
Just over a week ago, a smartly dressed lorry driver (he wore a tie under his v-neck jersey!) and his less-smartly dressed, yet quick to smile, and seemingly quick in all manner of ways – unlike the lorry driver who, although very nice and smartly dressed came across as a bit dim – packed up my worldly possessions. I sat on an orange sofa. A sofa-bed, to be more exact. A sofa-bed that, in its life with us, was probably used more for its bedding than its soffing*.
It was a good sofa-bed. We bought it at Habitat when we finally got around to outfitting our flat the way we wanted it. To say that the sofa bed was orange is to do it a disservice. Its fabric was a thickly-woven, soft-netting type of fabric which added texture, which in turn softened the orange of the orange by adding shadows in its texture.
Yes, it was a good sofa-bed. As a bed, it was initially quite comfortable. It pulled flat over internally hidden slats, more like a futon than the old-fashioned sofa-beds of my youth. Consequently, it didn’t have that uncomfortable hump-lump that cuts perpendicularly across your lower back that most sofa-beds have. It served the miscreant, Spanish boy** who lived with us for a year whilst he didn’t go to school in London***.
It served the CBF well when she was in-between living situations. The Dog loved the orange sofa-bed because it was the only human bed she has ever been permitted to occupy. (She was not permitted on the orange sofa-bed when it was in sofa form.) After the Spanish boy and the CBF and innumerable visitors, the bed of the sofa-bed became less and less comfortable as body-shaped dips began to haunt the fabric of the orange sofa-bed.
We decided to part with the orange sofa-bed upon the day of our move from London. That is why I sat on it whilst the movers packed up my worldly possessions. The orange sofa-bed was left behind.
Now, just a week and a couple of days later, I wait for the movers on the other side. There is nothing upon which to sit, but a hard wood floor, which was, thankfully, mopped yesterday.
*Not a word.
**The miscreant, Spanish boy is now a well-meaning man and The Dog Walker.
***Can't seem to find the post where I wrote about it, but I'm sure I did. No?
Tuesday, 6 September 2011
I am vaguely aware of The Man shuffling out of bed and heading to the bathroom. Some minutes pass. I heave a sigh and swing my legs to the side of the bed. I sit there, on the edge of the bed, for a moment whilst I collect my morning balance. I pick up my laptop, which is on the floor by the bed; I had watched an episode of Fringe before I fell asleep.
I walk to my desk where I place my laptop. I will spend most of the day working here. I shuffle the same path The Man has taken to the bathroom. He is out of the shower and rather awake. I mutter something about going to the gym later in the day. He says, ‘good for you’ in a sincere way.
I go back to bed and sleep until 8:30.