All settled in...

... to the new apartment.

Friday came and the move went without a hitch. I packed most things and Other Half had the afternoon off to orchestrate the move with the removals men. It seemed that everything went well.


Saturday we went to Etoy on the train. OH wanted to rent a van so we could drive there where he could have a look at cars, and I could go to Ikea hell and shop for all the bookcases and shelving units. It only transpires that the car company which OH has signed up to doesn't have cars available after 12pm on a Saturday, or all day Sunday. So we went on the train, had some kottbullar (Swedish meatballs, mmm) for lunch and lugged some stuff back, amongst which were 2 ultra cheap armchairs which we will use for the time being until the sofa which we have ordered will arrive. This is approximately a 7 week wait. Anyway, the assembly instructions for the chairs came like this:




Sunday came round and we had to go back to the old apartment to do a clean up and scrub everything to make sure it was all presentable for the estate agents check, as well as to ensure we get a good reference and all the deposit back. OH views me as some sort of Prima Donna who never had to lift a hand before, and he pointedly said to me while I was in a contortionists position trying to scrub some dirt from a crevice that the first time he'd deep cleaned a house was when he was five.



Me: Ooh, child labour. Did you call Childline?



Him: I was five, and the hotline was in German because I lived in Germany...



Me: Ah... (nodding sagely in understanding)



I then thought about the last time I had to clean so thoroughly was when I broke up and moved out from the Bastard Ex. The lease was in both our names and we had well over 1k each in deposit with the renting agents. This we got back only half because of the various 'damages' that had been sustained in the flat as well as a hefty £850 bill for cleaning services after I'd scurbbed and bleached and cleaned and paid an extra £400 on top of that to get the carpets steam cleaned professionally. Amongst the damage sustained was a £600 bedside table which was scratched from the Bastard Ex's love of Bolivian Marching Powder, a fridge handle he had yanked off impatiently when drunk once, and a broken leg off a sofa bed that he had drunkenly collapsed into once after threatening to beat the living daylights out of me because I was going to pay the taxi he'd arrived back in and refused to pay for whatever reason.



I remember vividly that my departing words to him on that day of cleaning when he turned up after work in his suit and refused to help because 'the products are corrosive and might ruin his clothes' were exactly these:



'Fuck off you inconsiderate cunt, the drugs have corroded your brain and any trace of humanity in you. Get out, and I never ever want to clean up after any other frigging mess, emotional, physical or otherwise, ever again.'


I'm not bitter, just disappointed.



It was a while before I met OH and was ready for a relationship. The Bastard Ex was truly someone I would never ever wish on anyone else.

Anyway, I digress. After moving this morning I had to take a different route into work. I found that going on the tram my closest stop to work is by a park which depending on the number I take, means I either have to walk through the park or across it. Either way it is a lovely walk, and down nice tree lined avenues with old baroque buildings framing the backdrop. I miraculously had my camera with me so I took some photos and will post them here later this evening once they're loaded on.