A Post from my Old Room

I've just woken up from a 2 hour sleep. And I never sleep in the daytime! Probably not the best of times to write a blog, but somehow I feel inclined. So much has happened since I last wrote.

The house sale completed on Friday, just as it should have done. The removal chaps turned up at 8.30 and all the contents of the house were loaded by 9.30. As we took one last walk around the place I felt curiously unemotional, but welled up when one of our neighbours caught us on the way out and gave us a good luck card. Even though we did so much of the DIY ourselves, I don't think I'm particularly attached to the bricks and mortar of our house. But I'll miss Stoke Canon a lot.

The call from the Solicitors came at 10.30. Paul took it, I was driving. The house we had bought 20 months ago with the intention to set down roots in Devon for good was no longer ours. We had stepped off the cliff and into the unknown.

And so we headed off to Oxford. The journey was fairly uneventful, we took what we needed for Friday night. To-ing and fro-ing from car to flat we met 3 other people who live in the block, and all were lovely, asked us whether we had everything we needed and if there was anything they could do. What you'd expect of trainee-vicars I suppose.

We had dinner at the Bat and Ball pub in the village which was absolutely super and for the one and only time that day it actually felt like it might just be my 25th birthday!

Yesterday, the men turned up again at 8.30. We spent the morning unpacking boxes and positioning furniture, a job we didn't manage to complete, and headed back to Somerset at midday, a journey which should have taken 2 hours 20 minutes but took almost double that due to all the holiday traffic.

This morning was our last morning at St Davids and, actually, the most emotional moment of the whole weekend. I knew it would be. St Davids has been such a wonderful place to be. I somehow managed not to cry through repeating the mantra of 'now come on Hannah, you're going to be a vicar, if you blub now however are you going to manage weddings and funerals?' But it was a struggle. We'll visit, of course. But my valuable days of being a normal congregation member in a church now appear to be over. I think that St Davids will feel like 'my church' for a long time yet.

On the way back to Somerset from St Dave's we snuck by Barton Close. There is a car and a van outside, a blue sofa in the lounge and mobiles in the bedroom window. I felt strangely happy that someone was enjoying the place.

St Davids aside I thought I was handling the weekend pretty well; chilled-out, relaxed, taking it in my stride. And then I came over monumentally tired a couple of hours ago. I said to Paul, I think sometimes you think you're taking things in your stride but the effects of change run pretty deep. And, I suspect, the effects of 4 hours sitting on the A303 staring at Stone Henge run pretty deep too.

Well, writing this post has woken me up at least. So I'll splash my face and get myself off to Nan's. These few days are for finishing off at work and making the most of some quality time with the fam. See you later.

Times They are A'Changing

We are moving tomorrow.

Yes, it's all come as a bit of a shock. The call came from Sue by Name at 1pm on Monday which was actually very convenient timing as I'd just downed half a cider at the Coaver Club and was therefore able to take the news relatively calmly. "Oh, so the Buyers want to move on Friday do they? Oh yes, fine. We'll pack up all our stuff and arrange removals in 93 hours. Not a problem."

So we exchanged contracts this morning (better late than never...) and the men from the appropriately-named Bishops Removal Company will be turning up at 9am tomorrow. We'll close the front door of 5 Barton Close for the very last time, travel over to Oxford to pick up the flat keys, go for a birthday meal somewhere (did I mention I'm 25 tomorrow...?), sleep overnight on the floor of the flat then take receipt of our furniture on Saturday.

My last day at work is Thursday 4th August, so we'll be travelling back to my Mum and Dad's on Saturday and staying with them til next Friday.

It's been a hectic few days but I think we're just about there with packing and admin.

I'm starting to feel sentimental about Exeter. I was driving round Exe Bridges yesterday when I got a sudden surge of nostalgia, which is not an emotion I normally associate with Exe Bridges. It's amazing to think that it was almost 6 years ago Mum and Dad dropped me down to Exeter for University. We got lost and ended up at Exe Bridges, luckily managed to take the exit onto Bonhay road which took us in the right direction. I remember looking out of the car window at the river as it ran down past the Mill on the Exe and how beautiful it looked. 6 years and 5 houses later (D101 Nash Grove, 19 Vic Street, 13 Danes Road, Victoria Place and 5 Barton Close) I'm leaving. And it's just starting to sink in.

Ho hum, I'll try and hold myself together! After all, there's so much to look forward to. 

Gardening

Life is largely unproductive at the moment. My particular place of work is famed for being very quiet in July and August due to the huge number of people we're involved with who work term-time only. I've been trying to keep myself busy but I spent a significant amount of time today watching a man on a large ride-on lawnmower go up and down the grass outside my office window.

I thought to myself; that man can look back on his day's work and see that he's achieved something. I'm not sure I can say the same at the moment.

And I'm not sure I'll ever be able to have that sort of 'job done' satisfaction as a Priest, not very often anyway. People are messy. Relationships are messy. So Churches are messy places, and the Priest's job isn't to fly in like Superwoman sort out everyone's problems then fly out again, satisfied with the neatly-mowed lawn. It's about getting alongside people and trudging through the long grass together.

Well, that was my thought for the day. Incidentally, I did some gardening this evening. A bit of weeding. Felt very pleased with the result although I've only cleared the weeds down one side of the front lawn. More to do tomorrow. A bit of digging is good for the soul.

It's been a while since the last Blog entry and if I went through all the to-ing and fro-ing we've had with Solicitors and Estate Agents and Surveyors this post would go on forever. Some highlights from the Buyers solicitors questions to us;

"Does anyone have permission to hold a fair on your land?"
No.

"To the best of your knowledge does anyone has any interest in your loft?"
Even I'm not very interested in my loft.

"You have got some outbuildings built without permission. Why have you got these outbuildings built without permission?"
They were built in 1966 so if you're looking for someone to blame...

OK, slightly rephrased by me, but surprisingly not that much.

After all of this we're looking at exchanging (probably) next week and completing (probably) on Friday 5th August. So there's a couple of probables to deal with, but it feels like we're nearing the end. Hence, clearing the weeds.

It really is feeling like an unbearable wait now. It's worse for Paul as he's home all day. By the time I come home from work in the evening I'm up for a bit of dinner, TV and sleep, but he's had those options available to him all day. I don't envy him. Even if work is a bit slow at the moment at least it's something to wake me up in the morning.

Did anyone see 'Alex:A life in Fast Forward' on BBC 3 last night? It was a documentary about a young chap of 22 with terminal bone cancer. Knowing he didn't have long to live he had decided to live life to the full for the little time he had. My description sounds a bit cliched but Alex came across as such an endearing young man I'd recommend a watch on iplayer if it sounds your sort of thing.

It provides some food for though for those of us inclined to moaning regarding house sales.  

A Fete Worse Than Death

Hola! I know I only wrote on Wednesday but there's been a few developments since.

On Thursday, Sue the (aptly named) Solicitor called. She told me that the Buyers' mortgage is approved and the searches are underway. I'm racking my brains trying to remember what exactly searches entail, seems a while since we bought. I think it's basically getting hold of those maps which show property boundaries, nearby areas of contamination etc. Nothing much showed up on our searches so it should be fine unless Stoke Canon's become a radioactive hotspot since we moved in.

Anyway, I asked Sue whether they'd be getting a survey (they've had a mortgage valuation which is basically some bloke coming round for about 10 minutes and going "yep, this house doesn't appear to be falling down") but no proper survey as yet. She said they wouldn't necessarily get one done. Since then we've heard that they will be getting a survey, on Wednesday in fact, so we've been busy filling cracks in the ceiling over the weekend!

Sue reckons we could technically complete on 29th July if the buyers are happy with that. My guess is that it will be a bit later than that. Getting the survey written up and sent to them will push the completion date back by at least a week. And then it's whether they've handed in the notice on their property yet yada yada yada. Paul's still holding up hope for 29th July but my bets are on the second week of August. Ever the realist!

Talking of Paul, he's now finished his job, therefore I am the sole breadwinner at least for the next 3 to 5 weeks. *Breaks out into a chorus of 'Independent Women' by Destiny's Child* I really don't mind, it gets me out of deep cleaning the house and packing boxes! But I really hope it's not for too long as the Mortgage alone is *gets calculator out* 52% of my monthly income, and there's bills and food and Bluebird's MOT on top of that, and given that our overdraft limit is a constant menace at the best of times we're going to have to be reeeally careful with money if we're going to survive any length of time like this. Fish fingers for dinner every night I think.

Anyway, now we come to the bright shiny gold-plated news of the week which came on Friday when I emailed David the Bursar and asked if he could pleeeease let us know where we'll be living. He replied almost immediately to say he will allocate us the flat in the Runcie building. I have decided I love David the Bursar.

The flat is exactly the sort of place I pictured us living in when we chose Cuddesdon. On campus, right in the heart of things, the chapel and the common room only a hop away. Up on the second floor with sweeping views of the Oxfordshire countryside. Two-bedrooms, space for a study and for guests to stay. We've really fallen on our feet.

I was meaning to tell Tom the Vicar at the Church Fete yesterday. Being a Cuddesdon man himself he was adamant that Runcie would suit us down to the ground. But he was busy in his dog collar and wide-brimmed hat circling the stalls, quipping on the microphone from time to time. It is slightly bizarre to think I'll be doing that sort of thing in a few year's time.

Andy the New Curate was there and seems to be getting stuck in, despite having only been at St Davids for a week. Tom introduced him over the mic. What Andy's doing is essentially what I'll be doing in 2 years' time - a Curate is a sort of Apprentice Vicar - so it's interesting to watch him and his family as they settle in.

Paul and I ran the Beat the Buzzer stall. We made £7.20. Probably won't be enough to mend the dodgy West wall. Might buy some gaffer tape to patch it up in the meantime.

So that was yesterday. Today I've been writing poetry. Would you like to hear it? I'm not sure how pleased I am with it. I'm normally a rhyme and rhythm kind of girl and this one doesn't have either.

Being and Doing

At four years old

We crawl into a cocoon and lie

Learning and growing

Ready to emerge at twenty-one

And see what we have become.

As I spread my wings

I was expecting definition

But there were no clear markings

To tell me what I was.

From four I knew

You are what you do

Like the faces on my Happy Families cards

(Mr Bread the Baker

Mr Plod the Policeman

Mrs Chalk the Teacher)

I can see the badges on their uniforms

I know what they are.

But I had no uniform.

I had a job

But I wasn’t a job

I was a lot of other things

(A friend, a wife, a dreamer)

But I wasn’t a job

It sounds obvious

But it’s a gear shift

And one I’m still getting used to

As I scold myself every time I ask

A stranger at a party

A minute into the conversation

“So, what do you do?”

I'll Be There For You

A brief sum of the whole moving-to-Oxford news;
1) We still do not know if we are to be flatting or cottaging (don't...)
2) The buyers have at last felt moved to pay their Solicitors (yaaaay!)
3) The Diocese have granted Paul permission to study and he has applied to college (woop!)

I only learnt of news point (2) yesterday, therefore I am in a very good mood.

My mind has stuck a foot into the 'well, I might actually be moving quite soon' zone, and while my immediate reaction to this is excitement I know there's a lot I'm going to miss about Devon.

My job I probably won't miss. I like it well enough, my colleagues are nice and laugh at my jokes, and the last year in disabled children's services has taught me a hell of a lot about the realities of life for some people, but my heart isn't in project/data management especially in a setting which is so detached from the service users.

I'll miss Stoke Canon for sure. Although owning our own home hasn't always been a pleasant experience - we seem to have had more than our fair share of things going wrong with it - there is something very grounding about owning the bricks and mortar that surround you. It's a proper grown-up house in a proper grown-up neighbourhood. Our neighbours are friendly, but don't intrude. This will not be the case when we're in a parish.

But, of course, it's friends I'll miss the most and I feel a bit of a hypocrite saying it, because I'm not the most conscientious of friends. I miss birthdays and don't ring as much as I should which makes me feel bad, especially when it comes to my old Uni housemates who have been such brilliant friends to me over the years.

Lizzie and Sazzle, Tristan and Andrew, Amy, Emma and Emily, Quizteamaguiliera, my friends at Pink Biscuit Poetry, and so many more. These are all people I'll be seeing this month. But after that, when? Yes, I'm not the most conscientious of friends, but their proximity is always a comfort.

I think Ellie's the only friend I'll actually be nearer to in Oxford than in Exeter. And Jen's about equidistant between the two, so it's not all bad.

People have said that when I go to college I'll make "friends for life" but in a way I feel like I've got enough friends. All the seats in my hypothetical bus of friends are full, and I don't want to shift even one of them to make room for a new friend. Am I getting soppy now? Ok, I'll stop. You know you've got to stop when you talk about hypothetical buses of friends.

So I'm off to write something for poetry on Monday. "Vocations and Callings" is the theme (in my honour). Maybe I'll post it on here if it's any good.