Quick Fire

It's my financial year end, so I'm busy, busy, busy.
Here are some headlines:

We move tomorrow. The packers are in today and have boxed up our life in less than 6 hours. The oven at our new house is bust apparently and the kitchen will have to be ripped apart in order to repair it. We can have £250 to the repair cost though.

In an attempt to move away from the "no-trainers, I like Buena Vista Social Club" grey man stereotype, I am wallowing in the sound that those kids like -- rock, hard rock. Those Queens of the Stone Age rock man.

I am more of a local superhero than even Ginger Woman -- more on this once we've moved.

I hate my job. My bosses are cretins.

India's words include "turtle" and "daddy, your bosses are fuckwits". I don't know how she will cope come tomorrow's move: she will freak out that our house has changed.