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Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Man, You Wouldn’t Believe How Much I Spend on Grass!

The 'Before' Shot.

Our lawn has been dug up, ready for the brand new Buffalo grass to be splendiferously* laid. Our irrigation and lawn man is called Bill and he’s married to my colleague at work, Donna (a.k.a. Sausage Roll Rebellion villain). 

I told him he should call his company Buffalo Bill and surprisingly it wasn’t the first time he’d heard that. His last name is Crabb... but he’d hardly want to be calling his company Crabb Grass and Irrigation, would he?

Anyway, if you need to get your lawn spruced up or a watering system put in place let me know and I’ll pass on the details (but if you live in Canada he may take a while to return your call).

The only problem is that Bill is having a bit of trouble sourcing grass. Can you imagine him calling around the contractors saying, “Hey man, it’s Bill. Know where I can get my hands on some grass?”
Scotto finished painting the outside of the house and is currently annoying everyone (me) with signs everywhere telling us not to touch the interior walls.

The carpeting will be done within a fortnight. The wooden blinds have been cleaned, the wooden window sills sanded and tinted, new curtains in the lounge room, the front foyer will be re-sanded and polished and I’m packing up useless items and scrubbing bathrooms.

Financial Cost: about 20 fudging thousand dollars $$$$.

Emotional/Mental Cost:

Every single one of the four dogs has paint on its body… somewhere.

Lulu (19 year old daughter) is cracking a mental because everything looks different and it’s stressing her out.

I decided I can’t throw away the kid’s astoundingly huge collection of plastic trophies and realised I really am a sentimental old woman after all.

Scotto got a job on the Gold Coast and will be moving two months ahead of me and I’m worried he might have such a good time he’ll just start sending me postcards of meter maids and that’ll be the last I hear of him.

Not really.

I don’t think my 14 year old cat will handle the move. She doesn’t like change because she’s so old and frail. (Who am I kidding? That bitch could take down a wedge-tailed eagle. She’ll be super keen to move so I’ll have to fork out several hundreds of dollars to have the fudging twenty dollar cat transported in a luxury trailer down the Queensland coast while I’ll be sweating in my four cylinder car with a German shepherd and a Silky Terrier breathing their bad breath down my neck as I traverse the potholes on the Bruce Highway).

I thought I made that word up but Spell Check seems to think it’s okay???

Any moving tips you'd like to pass on to me?