The move

And so it came to pass last Friday that I was met by a mysterious woman on the way out of class who told me that I was being evicted from my house.
"For why?' I enquired.
"Because we must give it to 3 girls instead of you males" she replied.
"I see. [as though that's a good reason? - ed.] And wherefore shall I live?"
"They call it: THE LODGE."

However since then I have decided to call it: Possum Lodge, because on my first visit I discovered a strange and unenticing smell that reminded me of the dead possum that was stashed in the skip-bin next to the hall. My olfactory senses were in perfect order and I soon discovered a dead possum on the doorstep. Hurrah.

And lo, they shall call it Possum Lodge for it was there that they found a dead possum.

I started cleaning the house on Saturday to make way for the girls (considering the state of our abode that seemed fair). A generally fun task giving me an enormous sense of well-being, until that is, my 2 other housemates returned and trampled in crap everywhere. Honestly I don't know why I bother, and all they did was whinge.

A 9 o clock meeting cut short the cleaning, and then 10 o clock for the village working bee (plus free scones). I proudly took up the job of building houses along with Tim (the guy with the stripey jumper). Apparently all the people with experience and muscles were busy so they took us. Henk later regretted his decision because it turns out that Tim's drilling is about as straight as a deranged hippie boomerang, and I have an unfortunate knack for destroying power tools with my very presence. Still. by 4 o clock we'd done some good work - I'm not sure how much exactly I helped or hindered the process but all in all I had fun at least. Pictures included.

Home for some tidy up and a snooze - we working types like to nap. Sunday came and the move went on. A deadline of 3 pm fast approached but due to incredible amounts of experience over the past year my skills were well up to the challenge - transforming a disgusing hole into a clean haven of tranquility. [Alas the same could not quite be said for Possum Lodge.] I removed myself from 20 King street and went to media training then TNT training. On my return to number 3 PL I discovered a curious thing: My door is the only one with 2 handles. This is significant for one reason: it is the only door that expands and contracts with cold and freezes the locks so that at night you can't get in or out. I'm not entirely sure if it would have been worse to be locked inside or out. So there I stood in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt at 11 o clock at night freezing my goolies off and unable to get into my house - which by the way has been likened to a toilet block in appearance.

However if ever we needed even more proof of a God it lay in the house next door. We are allowed to use the lounge and kitchen there until ours is built (I have high hopes). In said house I investigated the available bedrooms. My choices were uplifting and I spent the best nights sleep of my stay in the Po - photos under the 'stuff' category on flickr. Alas in the morning I only had my grubby clothes and temperatures approaching absolute zero for company. I ended up so cold that I couldn't grip my pen during our quiz. A sucessful fail I am sure.

The sun finally shone and my door warmed up enough to be opened, at which point we ripped out its mechanical guts to ensure that no one is ever again caught by such trickery. Then I built a fire pit from 'boulders'.

I look forwards to my continued stay in said accomodation.

"Suffering before Justice"