Whew!

So we're finally moved and settled in here on Lewisham Road.  I guess.  It's quite a change, and I don't dislike it, but I don't love it, either.  Adam likes it more, he thinks, but I miss our classy (looking . . . looking, not in actuality) Titanic Mill flat.  It had a working washing machine and dryer (all-in-one), and this place has a broken (soon to be replaced) washer only, that sucks.  Hopefully the new one will be better.  Hopefully the new one will also have a built-in dryer, as it takes a week for clothes to dry, which means they smell by the time they're dry.  However, we're not holding out much hope for that, as the landlord basically told us it comes down to cost, so they'll probably get the cheapest one possible.  Still, he's a nice guy, so I can't say too much.  Besides, he's probably a bit pissed that in less than a month of our taking residence he has to replace it.  Not our fault it's broken.  I did actually break the handle off, and was going to pay to get that replaced, but the repairman discovered the control board was busted (we could get it to work, but it was a pain), said "it's cheaper to get a new one" and took off with both the new and old door.

Titanic also had those two joys that are either impossible to find, or damn close.  First is the dishwasher.  We knew that when we talked about moving we wouldn't have one, most rentals don't.  It's not killing me yet, but I miss the ease of cramming it full and hoping for the best.  I also really really really miss the garbage disposal.  Those don't seem to exist outside of North America, so it was a pleasure and a joy to be able to peel veg and apples into the sink, throw eggshells in, or dump coffee grounds (which Adam still does) and then just cram it down the drain with lots of cold water.  Even Adam--who was afraid of the disposal slightly at Titanic--misses it a bit.

There are some other changes that take getting used to.  One of the biggies is that the floor is not level.  Not at all.  Not in the slightest.  Not even if you squint and don't look too closely.  You can actually feel in your legs that you're walking uphill from the door to the kitchen counter opposite (which is maybe 15 feet).  I'd guess it's 2-3 inches higher.  I'm also not convinced that the bedroom, bathroom, and landing are level either, but it's not so obvious.  It's also hard to get used to a carpeted bathroom.  I'm very not pleased about that, but nothing we can do.  But seriously, what moron carpets a bathroom?!  Ironically, it's also the nicest carpet in the house (the entirety of which is carpeted).

We also have to get used to living below someone.  We were on the top floor at Titanic, and there was no one below us, as they hadn't finished developing the final phase--they did some of it in 2009, so by the time we moved out, 1, 2, and 5 were done, but I believe 3 and 4 were unfinished.  4 certainly was, meaning that I could jump around like a moron (it's called exercise...) and not disturb anyone below us.  Being in an underdwelling means we can't disturb anyone below us, but since we live under a physiotherapist, well...we get disturbed a lot.  And there's no insulation, meaning we get all the stomping of them walking around and doing their therapies, as well as all the noise of them talking and running the hoover (which they do in a very weird manner).  Nor do they keep normal hours, but are mostly by appointment.  This is good in the sense that we don't get woken up every day at 8:20 (just some days), but they were there for 12 hours the other day, and most of it seemed to be them sitting around shooting the shit.  Loudly.  With lots of laughing.  So I started laughing whenever they did.

Adam and I both understand that we knowingly moved in under them, but we assumed that a) there was at least some insulation and b) well, mostly that there would be insulation.  We're contemplating making a recording of us having sex (or simulating having sex, which would probably be more fun) and playing it very loudly when they get to be too noisy.  Slamming the cupboard doors lots, screaming "use the whip!" moaning and grunting and such, and finally yelling a safety word ("cucumber" and "microwave" have both been suggested).  I've also thought about taking up the accordion and playing (badly, very badly) whenever they're up there, doing cover songs (badly, very badly) of a wide range of music (Canon in D, Coldplay, jazz standards, etc).  I also thought about the tuba.  Adam suggested I take up the bass drum, and just beat out basic rhythms (which is just about all a bass drum ever does).  Then we thought about putting a single song on constant repeat very very loudly.  "Paperback Writer" by The Beatles and "Blood" by My Chemical Romance are both front runners.  Both great songs, but not in large doses.

The last problem we've encountered Adam has mostly missed out on.  I, on the other hand, ended up in hysteria last night, and it probably took an hour before my adrenaline slowed.  Titanic had a limited bug problem; one of the advantages of being 5 floors up.  We got flies (dunno where from half the time, probably the vents), and if the doors were open, wasps and other flying things (hence why we bought and velcroed up a screen over the door frame).  I found a few spiders, maybe as many as 5 in two years.  We did have gnat-type things; but those came from our potting soil and plants.  But here, in two weeks, I've killed a weird flying ant thing (I think; couldn't see it that well), found a potato bug/roly-poly/wood louse, and found 3 spiders.  Make that four.

Last night I had the incredibly unpleasant discovery of the world's largest mother fucking spider.  In my towel.  While I was trying to dry off.  Luckily, it didn't end up on me.  I grabbed my towel off the wall, started to dry my left, freshly shaven leg (the right was freshly shaved too, before you ask), and as I moved and the towel flipped out I heard that plopping sound of something not too heavy landing on carpet (but heavy enough to make a sound).  It was--and I'm truly not exaggerating, because I just checked on a measuring tape--at least 2 inches across.  The body was probably a centimeter and a half across, plus those massive scary legs (and body...the whole thing was fucking terrifying).

I'm assuming it was a wolf spider.  I don't know.  But I screamed so fucking loud that I'm sure they heard me in Lancashire (that's the next county over for you non-UK county knowing people).  Did I mention that it was in my towel?  The one that I was using to dry myself with at the time?  After being flung out, it left the bathroom, and crawled under the small bookcase just outside the bathroom door.  I hurriedly finished my drying (yeah, same towel, but I sure as hell wasn't going to try for a second towel at that point), threw lotion on my face and even decided to comb my hair--all in record time, I might add. Then I carefully examined the floor and walls as I leapt from same place to safe place to get onto the bed (also examined before being leapt upon, but with a white duvet this fucker would have shown up like a bloodstain).  From the comparative safety of the bed, I carefully shook out my slippers and then looked inside each of them before putting them on.  Feeling slightly more protected, I grabbed a shoe (the widest I own) and went hunting.

The creature was no longer under the bookcase, which pissed me off because that meant I didn't know where it was.  I found it fairly quickly however, in the corner of one of the stairs between the landing and the living room.  So I grabbed my can of bug spray and sprayed it til it moved (trust me, this shit wouldn't have killed it, it's wasp/flying thing killer, and if I'd have thrown the can at it, it probably would have thrown it back--with better aim).  As it slowly descended the stairs then rather quickly started scuttling across the floor, I sucked it up and whacked it with my shoe--and then ran back really fast after dropping the shoe.  Wussy, perhaps, but seriously, this thing was huge and nearly as wide as my shoe, so if I hadn't hit it hard enough I didn't want to risk it holding onto my shoe and thus being basically on me and well, really, it was a fucking big spider and I was scared and didn't want to be that close to it.

Even dead, the bastard was huge  (yes, I one-hit killed it).  I refused to touch it.  So I grabbed the vacuum and sucked it up.  I'm making Adam empty the hoover next.  Screw his asthma, I felt the damn thing go up the hose so I won't empty the canister.  If it turns into a zombie spider he can deal with it.

I'm sure loads of you are laughing, and that's fine.  It's awesome actually, and part of writing this was that I know it's funny to others.  But I really can't convey the absolute, abject terror that gripped me.  I haven't seen a spider that big since 2004, when I (sorta) helped Jason pack up his stuff so he could move to a new house with Jimmy and I.  He had several very large spiders hiding in that room.  I was outside and halfway across the lawn in about 3 seconds.  And before that, the last horrible spider experience was in a "mine" in Italy, and I refuse to recount that story, because it's neither funny nor dramatic, just super-creepy to me.

Welcome to my new home!