Our sultry, stultifying, airless heat wave continues (note blue sky in these pictures - it's the 30th September, for Heaven's Sake!) and today is the day scheduled for Mr Dempsey and his removal team to come take our 'stuff' into storage where they will keep it till we get to Ireland and invite them to bring it over. Well, as you can see, what has been heralded for days as the 'Big Green Lorry', as per all Dempsey's business cards and advertising, turns out to not be green and not even particularly enormous (though big enough). Mr Dempsey, lover of vintage vehicles like his Morris 6, in which he came to quote for the job (possibly because they knew of us as the 'people with the 2CV') has decided to do this run in the oldest lorry in his fleet, a 1978 Bedford TK in his old livery, red and white.
Well, no matter. The vehicle formerly known as BGL arrives on time and is staffed by 3 strapping lads. This includes old, grey haired Mr Dempsey himself. Dad had assumed that he was the owner, manager and maybe now promoted out of the actual humping, but no, he's in there chucking washing machines and boxes of Mum's books like a good 'un. We dogs are wrangled into the kitchen so we don't get under foot and the guys quickly eat through the living room's stuffing of boxes, mattresses and dissembled furniture. In an hour they stop for a coffee with the living room empty. There's then another 20 minutes or so kitchen stuff, garden furniture and toolery. The van is barely 3/4 full and the white goods etc stand in a single layer at the back of the load, strapped to the sides. The guys shut up the van, do some paperwork and are gone, over to the storage in the industrial estate over by Tesco's towards Whitstable.
Mum has stayed around to see the job well under way but then headed off to work. As soon as the removal men are gone, the Angel B turns up armed with hoover and brooms and sets to, to tidy and clean up after the guys which Dad very much appreciates, as he is a tad weary at this stage and still has all the clearing of debris and runs to the tip to contend with.
The only soft furnishing in the house is now the old king-sized mattress on which we will 'camp' till Monday, where-upon it, too will be tip-bound. Dad's lying on this as the only place to rest up now in this house (we're OK - we've got our dog beds) when he hears Jim a-calling. He and the Angel B have realised we have no furniture and is offering the loan of a couple of fold-up chairs. Even better, Dad is invited round for a sit in their very comfortable wicker garden-chairs and a cup of coffee and a chat. It's been a hot and exhausting week, especially any time spent in the roof-space and up and down the stairs.