Home for the summer

Hope finally glimmers through the clouds - I'm finished in Norwich, barring calamity, until things kick off again in the new term. Which means that this past weekend the incomparable spouse-thing drove up to Norwich, carried my suitcase, books, papers, assorted odds and ends required for daily functioning, assorted groceries that I hadn't had the organisational skills to use up in time, and a rather large potted succulent called Lazarus (due to my failure to kill said plant despite no plant-related skills whatsoever and a larger share than normal of plant-related bad luck) down three flights of stairs, packed it all in the car while leaving sufficient space for me, and hauled the lot the ± three hours to Reading with exceeding good humour. 

The plant that could not be killed

I had thought that by the time I got to be this old I'd be done with the whole student move-out-for-the-summer-move-back-when-school-starts thing. Oh well. 

I still have a paper to write for the Higher Education Practice training course that's kept me in Norwich for so long after the end of term, along with supervisors' marching orders and several inboxes to excavate, but at least I don't have any more train journeys to look forward to for a few months. And around about when the weather started improving (I don't say 'got nice' because it's still pretty dang chilly and wet in Reading for some reason) Dave started getting antsy about finishing all of the around-the-house projects that he was too busy to tackle when he first moved in, and the first of those just happens to be turning the junk room into my office. This could have been accomplished by sticking a desk in the room and calling the job done, but he's still in nesting mode and wants to Do It Right, which means I've learned way more about the composition of a 1960s era council house than I cared to. With any luck the whole thing will be done in the next few weeks and I can stop getting sighed at for scratching the dining room table.