“Why are you moving here…?”
I’ve lost count of the number of times puzzled locals have said this to me, in the brief time that we’ve been here (since last Wednesday, to be precise). Locals here are more than friendly. They’re super-nice. It is physically impossible to walk into town – which we do at least three times a day, often more – without making frequent eye contact with twinkly strangers, and then inevitably a cheery “Good Morning! How are you today?” begins the conversation. Coming from central London (“get-out-of-my-effing-way-or-I’ll effing-do-you...” – typical central London unspoken greeting) this new form of address is quite unnerving. I last experienced this degree of love-bombing when I spent an evening with the Moonies. Are Warhamsters occult cultists, too?
Apparently not. This is commonplace for Warminster.
So I explain, we’re here just for the winter. May stay longer, depending. Reason we’re here is it’s a very beautiful if rather overlooked place. Georgian buildings. Clean air, clean water. Safe. Lots of space. Brilliant country walks. And frankly, because it seems to be full of rather nice people like you.
The move here was brutal. I still have the bruises, literally. Turns out that swanky removal companies make their money by over-scheduling and under-delivering. Instead of a 4-person two-day job, it ought to have been a six-person three day job. So I was pressed into service, humping as many boxes as the rest of the crew. Back-breaking, body-wrecking work. And everyone has bruises the length of their arms from vile, over-stuffed cardboard boxes. Close my eyes, I see brown boxes still. Merely two days work for me, but a way of life for them. Nasty, brutal, damaging.
We are awash in a sea of boxes now. Some things have been unpacked, most not. “Have you seen…?” being the most common form of address in our household now.
It will be a few days yet until I’m properly sorted here, so please bear with me just a little longer. Saturday’s Huddle is ON (so much looking forward to it) and Sunday’s Pop-Ups ought to be on, but lots of tests are ongoing.
And as for the UFOs… the Warminster Thing as it was called back when Wiltshire was world-renowned for its crop circles and alien contact… well… a few pints in the local hostelry ought to loosen a tongue or two. Will keep you posted.
I’ve lost count of the number of times puzzled locals have said this to me, in the brief time that we’ve been here (since last Wednesday, to be precise). Locals here are more than friendly. They’re super-nice. It is physically impossible to walk into town – which we do at least three times a day, often more – without making frequent eye contact with twinkly strangers, and then inevitably a cheery “Good Morning! How are you today?” begins the conversation. Coming from central London (“get-out-of-my-effing-way-or-I’ll effing-do-you...” – typical central London unspoken greeting) this new form of address is quite unnerving. I last experienced this degree of love-bombing when I spent an evening with the Moonies. Are Warhamsters occult cultists, too?
Apparently not. This is commonplace for Warminster.
So I explain, we’re here just for the winter. May stay longer, depending. Reason we’re here is it’s a very beautiful if rather overlooked place. Georgian buildings. Clean air, clean water. Safe. Lots of space. Brilliant country walks. And frankly, because it seems to be full of rather nice people like you.
The move here was brutal. I still have the bruises, literally. Turns out that swanky removal companies make their money by over-scheduling and under-delivering. Instead of a 4-person two-day job, it ought to have been a six-person three day job. So I was pressed into service, humping as many boxes as the rest of the crew. Back-breaking, body-wrecking work. And everyone has bruises the length of their arms from vile, over-stuffed cardboard boxes. Close my eyes, I see brown boxes still. Merely two days work for me, but a way of life for them. Nasty, brutal, damaging.
We are awash in a sea of boxes now. Some things have been unpacked, most not. “Have you seen…?” being the most common form of address in our household now.
It will be a few days yet until I’m properly sorted here, so please bear with me just a little longer. Saturday’s Huddle is ON (so much looking forward to it) and Sunday’s Pop-Ups ought to be on, but lots of tests are ongoing.
And as for the UFOs… the Warminster Thing as it was called back when Wiltshire was world-renowned for its crop circles and alien contact… well… a few pints in the local hostelry ought to loosen a tongue or two. Will keep you posted.