Moving

We had found this brilliant bungalow, perfect in every way, even with all inclusive rent and without agency fees - a miracle organised by the Head's PA from my new school.
Before we went off on different holidays, we had written the contract and sent it to our future landlord who was supposed to sign it and send it back.
He didn't, but we didn't worry much as had been travelling too.
We called him on our way back from the Lakes and arranged the contract signing and moving in for Saturday at 12.
We arrived to the house on Saturday at 12. No sign of the bloke.
After 15 minutes, we tried his mobile - not available.
After 30 minutes it changed to switched off.
After 45 minutes Paul called a friend who checked his e-mail for him - nothing.
After 65 minutes we gave up and left.
We sent the bloke and e-mail asking to contact us a.s.a.p. No reply.
Paul called him again, it rang and then it went busy. Twice.
I called him, he answered the phone and hung up on me immediately.
So I guess that's it. I'll have to chase that lovely picture of sitting on that porch with a glass of wine out of my head.

But.

We're supposed to be picking up Paul's sister's furniture and my stuff on Saturday, but we have nowhere to move it to.
I'm starting work on Friday. If we're still here, it will mean setting off every day at 6.40 so that Paul can drop me off before going to work himself.
The chances of us not being here anymore are very slim.
I don't know where my school clothes are. Quite possibly still in Birmingham.

Shooting stars…

…are dead cool. There’s nothing like lying on the grass staring at the sky even if your bum gets slightly cold. Peace, people.