by Dad flew up to Wellington last Friday. We spent the weekend packing and cleaning and vacuuming and shoehorning items into the car in the teeming, unremitting rain. On Sunday we had two inches. The staff at Countdown were extremely helpful in getting us extra banana boxes. It’s amazing how much crap (and it is mostly crap) I’ve accumulated over the years. The van and trailer arrived at 7:20pm on Monday. Dad and I helped the driver and his younger assistant shift all the bulky items. They didn’t hang around. We turned up at the Bluebridge ferry terminal at 10:30 and boarded shortly after midnight. This feels like the start of my trip. We had a cabin which, with a loo and a hot shower, surpassed our (admittedly terrible) expectations. Although I was cold I must have managed at least four hours’ sleep, interrupted by the safety announcements as we left port at half-two. We got a wake-up call at half-five and were off the ferry by about 6:20. I don’t think Dad had slept a wink so I did most of the driving. We stopped at Blenheim (for petrol and a coffee and muffin each), Amberley (for tea and some chips) and Ashburton (for more petrol) before arriving at my parents’ place in Geraldine at 1:40. We just had time for a cup of tea before the van arrived on the stroke of two. Dad was cursing as my almost valueless crap kept filling up his garage space. My brother has already done his bit by palming off army boots and the like. My chest of drawers got damaged on the way; I wish now that I’d left that and the bookcase in storage in the basement. I paid $920 to have my freight delivered, little over half of what some other companies quoted me, so I can have few complaints. But moving is stressful.
That guy did apply to rent out my apartment and I happily accepted. He moved in yesterday so my place is already earning money. What a massive relief that is. My new tenant has spent the last eleven years working for an engineering consultancy in Auckland and has just taken a senior position in Wellington at the same company. His tenancy is for a relatively short term, until 19th February. I expect my property manager to bill me for this, that and the next thing over the next five months. The chair of our body corporate emailed me in her usual pompous style to say that they wish to move “imminently and aggressively” on seismic strengthening. I just hope the movement isn’t so imminent and aggressive that my tenant or his immediate successor will have to vacate the flat. God, I’ve hated the whole business of owning property and dealing with people who deal with property. I’m not cut out for it or in any way enthused by it.
Friday was my last day at work, where I was appreciated as a person more than I realised. My boss just about wrote an essay on my leaving card. I should try and keep in touch with him because you just never know, but really, could I face all those performance reviews and meetings and games? There was a remuneration review just before I left, and people complained about their derisory pay rises. One of my colleagues said she should have been rated as “achieving” rather than “growing” or “developing”. Hell, you’re 54. I’m buggered if I’m going to get a school-style report card telling me I’m growing when I’m 54. September has been a huge month for people leaving the company.
My flight to London leaves Christchurch on Tuesday.
