The Good{Expat}Life

#4 Nine Weeks and Counting

9 Weeks and Counting... 

'How much have we made so far?' George shouted from the loft where he was in charge of throwing down black plastic sacks of old belongings, most of which had moved with them from house to house.  

'£350!' Penny shouted, consulting the sales list they'd put together. She tore open one of the sacks and rifled through the contents. Essays, assignments and exam papers from some course long ago. She moved it to a pile marked 'for burning'.  

'We've still got £750 worth to flog, maybe less if we want a quick sale. You know, the dining room table, chairs, your golf clubs... that kind of thing.' She bit her lip and waited a heartbeat. 

George's head appeared through the loft hole, it reminded Penny of a Jack-in-the-Box but upside down. 

'Golf clubs? Did we reach an agreement on those?' he asked suspiciously. 

'Oh, George. How many times do we have to have this conversation? Of course we have. The van will only take so much. Roger can't organise a flipping pyrotechnic can he?'  

George spluttered. 

'What now?' asked Penny looking at her watch. 'Look, we want to get this done so you can get off-' 

'You are priceless, girl. Do you know that?'  

Penny was beginning to lose patience. She knew George and his delaying tactics. He was like a little squirrel, hated throwing anything away, she knew she should have sent him off on some other errand. She'd have had this all at the dump by now. 'Of course, I'm priceless, there are just some things that money can't buy. So what's the joke?' 

'Darling, it's a pantechnicon - large lorry in other words - not a pyrotechnic, and it will be more like a double decker bus. The dinky version. But to get back to the point of discussion and the golf clubs, Pen you do have this habit of making the decisions and then telling me after the event.' 

Too right, thought Penny, otherwise we'd never make any decisions. But she knew she had to humour him, after all there were spiders in that attic, the size of small mice.  

'George, darling, that is not true. We make all the big decisions, together.' She fluttered her eyelids, that usually did the trick. 'Okay, I confess, that may be the case. Rarely. Occasionally. Sometimes.'  

George raised his eyebrows.  

'But then again, you must admit you do say, often, that I do know best.' She stared back at him hoping her expression was blank enough. 

George laughed and jumped down landing on his feet with a thud. Penny watched tiny crumbs of plaster fall onto the floor in front of them. 'Woops,' said George as he scooped her up in his arms and twirled her around. 'Well, I can't argue with that, Pen can I?' He kissed her long and firm on the lips. He was such a loveable man, never afraid to show his emotions, however, there was a time and place. 

'Put me down now, young man.' She peeled herself from his arms. 'We've no time for this sort of cavorting.' She smiled and smoothed her hair. 'And anyway we don't want you to put your back out. I need a fighting fit husband.' 

George grabbed her, 'Mmm, I like the 'young' bit. '  

Penny reached for her list. 'No,' she said firmly holding him at arm's length and perching her glasses on the end of her nose, consulted the paper. 'Under stairs cupboard next.'  

Their little one-up-one-down cottage was beginning to look a little bigger. But then they had sold or dumped most of their furniture. Their sole cooking facility was a single burner camping stove, which was proving to be a little erratic so they mainly ate cold, out of the tin. If Penny never saw another baked bean in her life it would be too soon.