Monday, 14 April 2003

i have no willpower, you know

Paul was on a course all last week in London, at which they taught him stuff about C# (the programming language, not the musical note) and fed him daily. He got lunch and a plethora of snack-sized chocolate bars every single day. This meant that he came home with handfuls of little Kit Kats all week. A pile of them sat on my table as I stared at them fretfully. I ate one and left the rest behind. Not bad, I thought. So today we came back here after spending the weekend in Northampton to the pile of Kit Kats. Paul ate a few and I actually shooed the rest of them out of my house. I think the conversation went something like "Take them! TAKE THEM!!" as I pushed them in Paul's direction. Hurrah, they made it out of my house with only one casualty. A few minutes ago, I went into my purse to get something and what did I find? One lone snack-sized Kit Kat. I could go with the theory that it fell in there purely by accident, but I'm pretty sure that it landed there as a result of my boyfriend being diabolically evil. Yeah, I ate it. And I'd do it again.

Reasons why anyone involved in the house purchasing system is evil #759: The mortgage company has had our paperwork in their grubby little hands for three weeks. Two weeks after receiving our application, they decided that they needed 6 months worth of Paul's bank statements. We were not amused. One week later, they decided that they wanted the originals. Our mortgage advisor (and good friend, the lovely Debbie) had faxed the statements to Satan's Building Society, and it took them the whole bloody week to tell us that a) they couldn't read 3 out of 19 of the pages, and b) they want the originals plus a reference from my landlord attesting that I do actually pay my rent. Why didn't they ask for the landlord reference three weeks ago? I'll tell you why: because they are the spawns of Satan. So today we sent the bank statements over by recorded post, gave them my letting agent's phone number, and swore a lot. Now we wait. Again. To top it all, we got some documents in the post from our solicitors today with - I kid you not - my name spelled wrong. Now I have to ring them and tell them that MacDonald is spelled Mac not Mc, just like it said in all the correspondence we've sent them so far. Holy macaroni.

Breathe...and relax...and breathe...and relax...

Dammit, I'm out of chocolate.

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