So, we meet again. Another day, another internet cafe. Moving continents is tiresome work. Still waiting for furniture that the shippers 'forgot' to put on the boat - it's been 6 weeks. It's fucking disgraceful - yes I said 'fucking' - it is the only word that will do and those shippers are ground to air fucking cretins of the highest order with brains the size of an M&M only M&Ms have more substance.
Then of course Sky- internet, TV and phone providers - 4 weeks on and they had no record of our order - funny then that they were able to send us a bill for services they claim not have been asked for. Another shower of fucksticks. To say nothing of the bank in Spain - they are royal C*NTS.
That's better.
Well, since it takes less time to freeze sorbets in Rajastan than it is taking for my foot to heal - I've decided to take temptation out of the way (i.e. boredom induced, ill advised yoga) and go to Spain. Since it's pretty much impossible to get a word in edgeways with my aunts and cousins in a room, let alone lay a yoga mat out - I figure this is the best chance I have of my foot ever getting better. It will receive the treatment of inactivity it needs. I shall of course be taking the Lish in the hope that some of the beauty of the Spanish language remain with her after we return plus of course - I have no choice. The Sausage man is off to the States on business. Vaya Con Dios. I mean that. I hate being separated like this from him but I am guessing this state of dependency stems from all the recent upheaval. It is not a healthy way to be.
I'm working on it.
In the interim, I'm getting creative with spare time and limbering up to knock a few heads together at said Spanish bank. Wish me luck.
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