The House Husband

It all started sedate enough. The usual 7:30 wake up call to Mirinda, breakfast then a lovely walk in the park for the puppies and me. We saw lots of dogs out and about but none the poodles were interested in. There was one little fluff ball of a puppy who just wanted to play with Carmen but she went all shy and ran away. The puppy was called Lilian – Lilly for short.

It’s pretty typical of Carmen. She clearly doesn’t remember what it was to be young and boisterous. And she needs to run around a lot. At her last weigh in the vet said she needed to get more exercise and eat less food. Neither of these options appeal to her. In fact, her idea of exercise is dreaming about running in the park. Her feet go like Billy-O!

Not so Day-z. Slim, manic, Day-z. Though she tends to run away from anything and everything, so maybe that’s why she’s not overweight!

Anyway, having walked them and taken possession of our newest possession (a Garmin SatNav – I was totally convinced about the wonder of these in France with both John and Darren having them in their cars) I quickly showered then left for my usual lunch date with Mirinda.

I sat in the reception area, sipping my Starbucks, watching her take control of a meeting she was having in a corridor in front of me. I love the way she stands up. The other people are completely put off. Keeps them on edge. A wonderful tactic, skilfully employed.

Anyway, we had our usual wander around London streets and lunch at Eat, before I dropped her back at the office. But, unlike most Wednesdays, my day was far from over.

My next stop was Malpins, the electronics store. Mirinda’s DVD in the flat is being very temperamental and she needs a replacement. I checked online and found a very reasonable mini jobbie at Malpins, so that’s where I went. The fact that Malpins is a massive store full of all things that make boys shiver with anticipation, had nothing to do with it.

Actually, there was little time for shivering (sad face) as I took a box from the shelf, paid for it then left. Interestingly a postcode was not required this time although I was ready for them. This is just the sort of double standard that drives me crazy! Still, I took the box and walked quickly over to Liverpool Street station to board a very bumpy bus to Docklands.

I was in and out of the flat in around 15 minutes. In that time I managed to collect the mail (it is all addressed to me after all, and Mirinda never collects it anyway), unpack and install the DVD player and threw the old one and packaging away. I had to write the code for the garbage room on my hand because no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t memorise the 7 characters involved.

Still, I was back on the road to South Quay DLR station like the Flash, just missing a train. Not that this matters much. Apart from the fact that trains arrive every five minutes, the view over the docks and towards the Thames is lovely. Surprisingly the train was packed (the one I’d missed looked almost empty) and I stood all the way to Bank.

The change from the DLR to the Circle Line at Bank involves a walk of about 15 miles because you are actually going to Monument Station but all underground and as a continuation of your journey. Unlike Carmen, however, I don’t mind a bit of brisk walking and I arrived at the station just in time to miss the train. Four District Line trains followed in quick succession. Oddly, two of them went to Upminster and followed each other just two minutes apart. I’m not at all sure why. Anyway, it was only five minutes before I was on a Circle train to Barbican.

We had a brief wait at Aldgate because the train was early (a Tube train that was early? What’s that about!) and a chap stepped on and vaguely asked the carriage if it was a District Line train. Three of us said, no, it was a Circle train and he wandered off, back onto the platform. After a while, the chap next to me said “He’s not even at the right station. The District line doesn’t stop at Aldgate.” I chuckled, cruelly and replied “He’ll have a long wait then.”

At Barbican, I popped into the Tesco on the corner for some coffee, sugar and milk and then went to the flat at Florin Court, where I worked on my dissertation for a few hours while I waited.

I was waiting for two people. A Schumanian from the realo, who wanted to look at the flat and for Dan. I had placed the bed and the two chests of drawers on Freecycle on the weekend and Dan had said he wanted them. He was arriving at about 6:30 in a rental van to take them away. And he did.

Dan was a lovely guy. He works at Deloittes. I know because he said he was sitting in his office a block from the flat but had to go home, change, pick up the van then drive back to the flat. Anyway, I helped him load the booty and he drove off happy as the proverbial.

Back in the flat I did a quick furniture rearranging then wandered across the road to catch the old number 4 bus to Waterloo. I’m going to miss the old number 4 when I’ve finished with the flat for there’ll be little reason to get it again. Except, maybe for my graduation. When I’ve finished this damn dissertation, that is.

Which I must now get back to as I sit on the crowded 8pm train home.

Yes, we completed today. The Canary Wharf flat is now ours. Well, the bank’s really but you know what I mean. We were originally going to move Mirinda in on Wednesday but it was all too exciting and we couldn’t wait, so we’re doing it tomorrow (Saturday). Yay!

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I had a great time researching today at the Science Museum. I am constantly amazed by the number of incredibly obscure people there are. I shouldn’t be really, because there has been an awful lot of people on the planet at one time or another and they can’t all be well known. However, it amazes me that there are people who do one thing, are lionised for it then slip back into obscurity. One such chap was Samuel Crompton.

In 1779, Samuel invented the Spinning Mule. No, I’d never heard of it either but, apparently, it was really, really important during the Industrial Revolution. Crompton was a one-invention type of guy but this one invention revolutionised mechanised weaving. Trouble was, poor old Crompton was a lousy businessman.

The reason he created the Mule was in order for his business to spin muslin. It was very successful. So much so that other factories would send spies to try and work out how he did it. It drove him to distraction to the point where he was determined to either destroy it or go public with it. Sadly, he could not afford the £100 to take out a patent and, while factory owners said they’d give him a bit of dosh for it, once the machine was up and running, they sort of forgot. He only managed to get around £60 for it.

He went back to spinning and, somehow, managed to get a bunch of people to pay him £500 in 1800. but then a massive blow. Another inventor, Edmund Cartwright invented the power loom and parliament gave him a grant of £10,000! Poor Samuel was a bit miffed (he was from ‘oop north’ so he probably said something a little earthier than ‘miffed’) and set about trying to claim a grant for his Mule.

He set off on a tour of the north to collect evidence of how much his Mule was being used. When it came time to present the evidence he stuffed it up a bit and, after a long wait, he eventually received £5,000. Joyously he set up a bleaching business…which failed. Unknown to Samuel, his friends clubbed together and gave him an annuity of £65.

Interestingly, while it’s very easy to feel sorry for poor old Samuel, when he needed the £100 for the patent, he gave £100 to his church, which is somewhat short sighted. While one can laud his ill-judged philanthropic gesture, it could have been a lot bigger had he taken out a patent instead.

He eventually died in 1827, sad and miserable…actually I have no idea if he died sad and miserable but I thought it an appropriate image to end on.

100 POSTS! I can’t believe it! I have managed to write almost every day since I started and now I’ve reached 100 posts. I was going to buy three birthday candles. A 1, and two 0s. I was going to put them on a small cupcake. I was going to post the picture here. I couldn’t find any in Farnham. So, I guess, apart from a fishmongers, there isn’t a candle seller here either. Anyway, Happy Anniversary to me!

And, to celebrate, today I went to Canary Wharf with Mirinda to check out her final list of flats. As usual, I waited for her to view about 450 of them then let her cross off all but four. She then set up appointments for us to view them today. I was much more excited about seeing Canary Wharf.

So, up at 6 and out of the house by 7:30, on the 8am train from Farnham. The plan was to meet at 9:30 by the statue of the guy on the horse (near Bank Station) which should have been very easy. The Waterloo & City line leaves from Waterloo and goes one stop, to Bank. Sadly, it wasn’t running because of stupid engineering work (I find very interesting that they call it ‘engineering work’. Does that mean a whole bunch of engineers are down there, checking it out, building bridges, checking stresses? Or does it REALLY mean, maintenance work but they like to make it sound more important?) so I was forced to take the Northern Line to Tottenham Court Road and change for the District Line. Not that it made any difference. I arrived at 9:30 and still beat Mirinda who had to walk down the road from the flat.

And so to the DLR (Docklands Light Railway). It takes about 3 days to find the platform then the actual trip to Canary Wharf takes about 10 minutes. I’m pretty sure we walked most of the way, just underground. So down about 2 miles, following arrows down long staircases. The train, on the other hand, rises almost vertical in the shaft until the day suddenly appears.

The rest of the trip is a bit like a very slow roller coaster. The carriages are quite comfortable though a bit wobbly. Very pleasant, however, is the fact that it’s all above ground.

Canary Wharf Station is amazing. It’s an entire world of shops underground. Like Logan’s Run except with all age groups. And there is everything there. From here, we took a side entrance and returned to the real world, where we traipsed all around Canary Wharf, admiring the wonderfully modern buildings, boats called Josephine and multi-universe traffic lights.

Canary Wharf

We wandered around a lot more before sauntering into Carluccio’s. Unfortunately. We were ignored. And then they managed to bring us the wrong coffees. We were in there for ages. The staff eventually realised they weren’t serving us and tried to make up for it by offering me more pepper. Twice they offered me more pepper. It made little difference. Actually, to be honest, it made NO difference. I didn’t tip them. Which is a bit mean. After all, I could written something like “My tip: Do not ignore your customers.”

Not that we were rushed for time. Mirinda managed to book the viewings with about three hours between each one. Anyway, we met the realo and visited the first flat. I didn’t need to see any more. It is perfect. Nice and spacious, light, wonderful kitchen. It was previously a rental to corporate clients so it is furnished. The furnishings are included. Which is perfect.

But, of course, we HAD to see the other properties as well. Having a few hours to spare, we decided to catch the Thames Clipper over to Greenwich. Good God! It was packed. And most of them (Spanish, I think) knew each other. For some reason, they were very keen on taking photographs of one of their friends because he kept falling asleep. I am not sure what that’s about.

Greenwich was amazingly crowded. We wandered a bit and then, suddenly, Mirinda grabs then drags me into San Miguel, a Spanish tapas restaurant. Fantastic place. Lovely food, great service, nice owner. A LOT better than Carluccio’s. I totally recommend it.

San Miguel, home of excellent tapas in Greenwich

After lunch we wandered around the (no longer) Royal Naval College. An amazing place. So amazing it has it’s own monogrammed rubbish bins. Now that’s important.

Monogrammed rubbish bin, Greenwich

We decided we had to come back to Greenwich but for today our visit was limited and we boarded the Thames Clipper back across the river to Burrell’s Wharf.

Here I was dragged around three flats, all the time thinking we’d already seen the perfect flat. The realo had the weirdest boots. They had a huge bit missing on the ankle of each, exposing her flesh to the elements. It was most peculiar. And her skirt (while I’m busy assassinating her character) looked very similar to a Victorian gas light cover only not made of glass. She also wore far too much make up.

Anyway, we thanked her and boarded the next ferry to Waterloo. Mirinda asked what I thought and I repeated (for the millionth time) that the first flat had been perfect and I wasn’t sure why we hung around for the others. It turned out that she felt the same.

Come Monday morning, Mirinda will make an offer on the flat. Let’s hope we get it.