surviving a rainy weekend (and other stories)

After much agonising and conflicting advice I think I've finally got a handle on selling the house: do the bare minimum- ie, tarting it up and make it look nice, don't put too much time, money or energy into and try to sell it privately, through various means.
Helen and Alan came round this morning, the couple-who-are-getting-married this month, (and I'm doing a reading at the service, gulp). The are full of practical tips and very knowledgable, and helpful, too: Alan works for a paint company and delivered my 10l of cost-price antique white emulsion for downstairs. Plus they raided their cellar and found all sorts of useful paint and tiles for specific purposes; even provided sticky labels for me to write there and then what exactly they are to be used for. I have on order some damp-cover-up for the entire chimney breast in my room, plus the two walls in Fergus's room. Bob's pointing obviously hasn't cut the mustard, as it is showing through already; time to abandon ship! I was provided with appropriate paint for these walls, also. I obviously need to finish off the damaged ceiling above the stairs. These are the things that will be noticed and put people off.
Also I have managed to acquire a bunk-bed on freecycle for Fergus, I just wanted a single bed, so Freddie isn't on a matress on the floor, so toys can be stored underneath. But, I think the bunk bed will help to disguise the dodgy wall. (Am I selling this house to you, folks?).
I have moved all the boxes from the hallway to under the stairs. That leaves some boxes still in the front room, which is almost empty now, but I think that's ok, as it is like a blank canvas. It will look nice redecorated, and the fireplace tarted up a bit with some plain tiles. Kelly is having the remaining IKEA shelf units, when she gets her drains and stuff done in her new house. I have floor paint, which is a kind of soft cream, and I think it will look better than white, as, strangley enough, the white floor actually makes it look smaller. People who don't know they are exactly the same size think the front room is smaller than the living room, even though it hardly has anything in it.
Well, I know this all might seem a little bit obsessive, but, I can tell you, it's a damn site better than obsessing over a man that can't decide whether he's seeing you or another woman. I have decided I'm not going to see Dave for a couple of weeks- I hope it works and doesn't just make matters worse. I was beginning to feel like something out of Sense and Sensibility. I'm not doing very well at not seeing him as I bumped into him yesterday-twice, and he has phoned a few times, but I think he might have got the message as he hasn't phoned today. At least I have got something to distract me- something to get stuck into- when this cold decides to stop making me feel so tired. H and A have been subtly trying to set me up with a man, who seems very nice, and interesting, but I just don't fancy him! And it's not working as a distraction. But I do keep seeing a rather nice Hugh Grantish type man walking past with a dog, and we spoke today, about the weather. He's probably married, but I can dream...
Yes, my cold was still weighing me down, rather today. When H & A came I didn't rustle up a quick pot of soup and some ciabatta, which I might have done under normal circumstances (whatever they may be). It was a much as I could do to get out of my baggy tracky bottoms and look dressed and relatively normal. Coffee: I managed, but, hey, any excuse to get caffeined up.

Joy spent most of the day at a birthday party, which involved a trip to a climbing wall, which I must check out as it's only a couple of miles away. She reallised she didn't have any trainers 10 minutes before she had to go, but she managed ok in bare feet. (O, my poor urchin children!) We didn't make it to the Eastwood Festival, where I was supposed to be helping out with the Forest School, as there were torrential downpours of rain, plus thunder, and anyway I had this terrible cold: my excuse. The boys seemed quite happy pootling around the house and daring each other to go out into the rain with umbrellas, and making fennel and mint tea potions, and playing with the doll's house, one of the only toys not packed into boxes! Fergus sucessfully lit the fire, which impressed Helen, I think. I enjoyed reading Ted Hughes' "How the Whale Became, and other stories", and all in all, felt it was good to spend the weekend with the children. It's Brendan's loss if he only wants to see them every other weekend.

Now please scroll down and admire my full moon picture.