Life at № 42 by E.M. Coutinho
Finished packing books and cd’s. Mike actually did the bulk of it before he left. We still have to do the more fragile crystal and porcelain table lamps. There’s also still the Wedgwood dinner service we use for everyday, and party wineglasses. I’m not sure we’ll ever have big parties again, but I’m keeping them just in case. One never knows. When I moved to the coast (sure it was going to be forever) I gave away all my heavy winter coats- which I now regret.
The movers are doing the paintings . I’ve used them a few times before to transport things to auction houses, so I’m fairly confident they know what they’re doing.
Mike emailed yesterday to explain how we got from cream leather seats, to burgundy seats, to black seats:
“…Frankly, the most exhausting rest I’ve ever had. However, I’m installed in a really central hotel in Alicante, for the next three days, so my rest begins here. Finally I get my pick of restaurants, having had to settle for McDonald’s last night in San Juan de Alicante (which the misguided souls call Saint Joan) to be near Lotsofhoney. Delivered the car at 8.0 am sharp, and was faced with the choice of colours. I asked the boss to leave me alone for ten minutes with the swatches, explaining that I had a partner who would kill me if I got it wrong. I didn’t really love any of them.
In the end I went for burdeos, which did seem to be more brown than red. Good choice, said the boss, who then kindly offered me a lift. As I climbed into his car, he pointed at his seats and said, There you are, burdeos ! Aaaaaargh…..a cross between maroon and coral.
So, what we’re having is black, with the central sections perforated. A bit cowardy-custard, but can’t go wrong…”
I’m in full countdown mode. Mike gets back tomorrow night or Thursday morning depending on how quickly the upholsterer works. Then it’s the final stage. We have a lunch on Friday, another on Sunday, then another on Tuesday. I’ve warned everyone that if I hear the word goodbye I’m getting up and leaving- I hate dramatics, terribly undignified. Getting emotional is something for people on reality shows. We’re moving to France, not Tonga. It’s a neighbouring country. One can leave Málaga at 10am and be in Paris in time for lunch.
Ah yes, and here’s me a few days ago trying to read on an armchair. The dogs have obviously decided they’re against literacy- which I suppose means they must have joined the Spanish far right (or do I just mean the Spanish right?)