Narrow squeak

Ah, life.

Just when you think it's all going so well, something comes along to throw you.

There's been a period of remarkable positivity in the WithaY household of late.  I've left my job, and am enjoying a summer off work - still enjoying it, despite shitty weather a lot of the time - and not panicking just yet about running out of money.  Mr WithaY has been successful in his application for a prestigious and competitive year-long course he applied for, and has also been told that his request to leave his job was approved, so he'll be free of his 28-year office drone shackles in a few months.  We've sold Father in law WithaY's house, so that particular millstone is removed.

The house sale, inevitably, had a few final bizarre hiccups.

We had to pay for an insurance policy in case some long-forgotten Covenant on the land was found to have been breached.  Nobody mentioned it when Father in law WithaY bought the house, several years ago, but hey. 

We had to spend days and days and DAYS negotiating with the house clearance people, who, I assumed just took everything away, but it seems that some of them prefer to try and cherrypick, and just want to take the "sellable" stuff, and leave the junk there.  Um, no.  If we wanted to be heaving old mattresses and broken jamjars to the tip, we wouldn't be paying you to clear the house, would we?

Gah.

Anyhoo.  Once all the tiresome faffing about clearing the house was over, and we'd cleaned it nicely, we settled back to relax, happy in the knowledge that the new owners were moving in, and all was complete.

Until we got a phone call from the lawyer. 

The new owners - bearing in mind that the contracts had been exchanged, the deal was completed, they now owned the house - were complaining bitterly about "all the stuff" left in their new house.  There was talk of legal action being taken against us if we didn't come down and remove it all immediately.

Whut?

Our lawyer was nonplussed.  He said that he had never heard of people complaining about stuff being left in a house.  Stuff being removed - door handles, light fittings, kitchen units - hell yes.  But stuff left behind?  Never.

Let us examine the list of stuff we left behind:

1)  A small Victorian garden statue, stone.  In the garden.  I always assumed that things like that were included in a house sale unless specifically excluded.  It seems that it offended the new buyers, and had to go.

2)  A small, admittedly rickety, wooden bench in the back garden.  As above.  Offensive, to be removed.

3)  A wall clock, fixed to the wall, in the kitchen.  Yes, I can see why you'd want to sue us for leaving a clock in your kitchen. What bastards we are.

4)  A fire extinguisher in the garage.  Christ, I'd have had us assassinated for leaving that there.

5)  Last but not least, the wheelchair access ramp at the front door, which they had dragged off to one side. Mr WithaY went down there after work with a sledgehammer and an attitude one evening and smashed it up, put it in the back of the Landrover and took it to the tip.  He said that they had the builders in already, renovating and updating the house.  The builders had carefully placed planks outside the front door to make a ramp for them to move tools and materials about.  I hope they charge the new owners a thousand pounds extra for their home-made ramp.

But, now, finally, it's over.  I think.

Remember I said we were looking into finding a new nursing home for Father in law WithaY?  And we thought we'd found somewhere suitable?  Well, they had one of their nurses visit F-in-L the other day to evaluate him.  She phoned us last night to say that she thinks their nursing home is, unfortunately, not suited to his needs.  Arse.

We've already given notice to his current home, but coincidentally, we had a letter from the owner yesterday telling us that the matron is leaving (mutually agreed, etc etc etc) and was there anything they could do to persuade Father in law WithaY to stay, given the impending change in management.  We will go and talk to them next week,and see if we can get things improved for him there, and then maybe he'll be happier about having to stay.

Perhaps the new matron won't drop him on his head.  That would be nice.

It's all very sad.

Other news:  Today I am mostly making a linen Medieval shirt for Mr WithaY, who is off poncing about doing swordfighting again at the weekend.  What larks.  He's borrowed a jacket and hose from a mate who used to do Medieval re-enactment, but there is a slight sizing issue with the hose.  Mr WithaY put them on, walking gingerly around the room, looking, as he said, like a sausage whose skin was too tight.  I hope he doesn't try any lunges, or there could be an unfortunate burstage incident. 

I am procrastinating, though, because my new sewing machine is intimidating me.  Brrrrr.  Multiple stitching options.