I am done. As in, prick me with a fork, I am done! I honestly can’t remember the last time I had such a long, stressful, exhausting four weeks. Last time we spoke, we had found Franki and Rys a sweet house in Cambridge to rent. Did that all go through successfully? I am happy to report that yes, it did. And I apologise in advance if this blog doesn’t run in a strictly linear manner. I am so tired that my brain isn’t forming coherent sentences very well, let alone formatting them into a timeline.

It took three weeks for all the paperwork to be arranged and for their ID to be processed, checks to be carried out, contracts to be signed and for Franki to arrange council tax, insurance, utilities, water, and TV licence. They also had a piece of luck in that the previous tenant moved out, leaving quite a few things behind, which the letting agency asked if they’d like to take their pick from. So, they gained a bed and mattress (the bed then turned out to be broken so had to be disposed of), a single day bed with a truckle bed underneath plus mattresses, a pair of bedside tables, a lovely big sofa, a teal armchair, a large kitchen cabinet, a wooden drinks trolley, a chest of drawers, a wardrobe, wine and champagne glasses, two mirrors, a large glass vase, and a few other miscellaneous bits and bobs. The house also came complete with a washing machine, dishwasher, oven, fridge, and a freezer that we found out in the summer house?!

Since then, they have also bought a new bed, another sofa, a dining room table and four chairs, a tumble dryer, a tall fridge/freezer (the fridge in the house is very small and they hadn’t realised there was a freezer in the summer house and anyway, they wanted their own), plus a long sideboard unit to put Poe the tortoise on. Yep, after four years of being babysat by grandma (aka me), the little tortoise has moved from my house to Franki’s new home in Cambridge. He has gone from being tucked away in a quiet spare bedroom to suddenly being in the heart of the home. He is now located in their dining room. Franki says he looks a bit grumpy about this. I don’t know, it’s kind of hard to tell what tortoises are feeling.

Franki has also taken most of their books, games, DVDs, candles and ornament bits and bobs to their new home. Plus, I have swapped a chair with them. I have a mustard-coloured small armchair in the spare room, which will fit perfectly in their lounge. In exchange, I have taken the beech rocker that they had in their flat in Reading. It takes up more space, so it won’t fit and doesn’t match their new aesthetic. There are still a few bits and bobs lying around which belong to Franki, so they will no doubt be making their way to Cambridge at some point. As well, every Christmas for the past twenty years, I have bought Franki at least one beautiful tree ornament on the understanding that when they were able to have a tree of their own, then all those ornaments would go to them. Well, now they have a proper house of their own and can get a decent tree this Christmas, so that will be at least twenty ornaments gone. An excuse for me to buy more? Maybe, but I have been using a much smaller tree for the last couple of years, so I will probably have more than enough left.

Now, what else has happened? Oh yes, my birthday lunch. It was wonderful. The sun shone, the weather was so perfect we were able to eat in the fabulous restaurant garden, and the staff couldn’t have been more friendly or accommodating of both my allergy (rapeseed oil) and a friend’s allergies (wheat and dairy), and everyone found lots to eat on the menu. After lunch, we went back to my house and sat in the garden until almost midnight. I prepared a large cheeseboard, and we had cake and prosecco, and it was wonderful.

Something not so wonderful is that I found out in July that the lady I job-share with is retiring. Now, you’re probably thinking, so what? Well, she has a lot of days off for holidays. Last year, it was over thirty days off in all. Now, when she is away, I do her shifts. I rely on that overtime money to make ends meet. In all, it comes to over £2500 extra pay each year. It’s a lot to lose. I can’t afford to lose it. So, this announcement was a big blow. I didn’t know what to do. I offered to take over one of her days. The boss said no. She claimed it would be harder to find someone who wanted to do just one day a week. I call BS on that, as on Indeed, there are endless jobs for just one day a week and plenty of married, older women who want to earn a little extra money and keep themselves busy, but don’t want the commitment of a full or even a part-time job of 20 hours a week.

Anyway. I am a bit panicky about this. I cannot afford to lose that overtime. So, I started looking around for either another job to replace my current one or one I could run as a side hustle. I do enjoy my job, and being able to walk to work is wonderful, as is the fact that it’s only usually Monday and Tuesday that I work. I can plan appointments and other things, knowing which days I work. I can also book for any live events on weekends with no worries about it clashing with work.

I have been scanning Indeed and other employment websites. There isn’t a lot out there. Lots of jobs I am not qualified to do or simply don’t want to do. I’m too old to be a full-time cleaner. Age, menopause and an underactive thyroid gland make it hard enough to keep on top of cleaning my own house, let alone someone else’s, and business premises cleaning is always stupid hours at the start or end of the day.

I have worked in retail, but it always, without exception, includes working if not every weekend, at least a huge proportion of them. Now, I can work most weekends, but I don’t want to be forced to work all of them.

Anyway, I applied for a few things, but nothing came of it. I’ve even considered a complete career change and am in the middle of induction days and training to be an at-home carer for the elderly. It is a very worthwhile job, but as I’m getting deeper into the training, I am very unsure. It is a huge responsibility, what with monitoring medication, intimate care, and all the legal ramifications of the role. Is it something I can do? Is it something I want to do? I just don’t know. I am feeling very forced into a situation not of my choosing.

So, this has been happening on top of everything that’s going on with Franki. Talk about life throwing curveballs at me. I am spinning plates like crazy and trying to keep them all in the air at the same time.

The last week of July is when everything kicked off. I worked as normal on Monday and Tuesday. Wednesday and Thursday were induction days for the potential carer job, then on Friday I had to do an online course in the morning, plus two hours overtime in the afternoon. That weekend, I tried to catch up on housework and writing, both not terribly successfully. The week commencing the 4^th of August was a full-on 40-hour work week as the lady I job share with was away. Wednesday was my one day off. Of course, there was no rest for the wicked. The tortoise had to be taken to the vet for a beak and talons trim. I had to sort out my books ready for a book fair on Saturday. I had bins, beds, laundry, and housework to do. There was shopping and cooking. Then on Thursday, I was back to work. And on Friday. I tried to have early nights both days, but apparently, sleeping is something my body is not doing now.

So, we reached Saturday, the 9^th of August. It’s the opening event of the Foreword Festival in Stowmarket. Originally, I had planned to attend lots of events, but I’m afraid life — or rather, my child — intervened, and the only involvement I could manage was the Love Your Local Author Book Fair on the 9^th.

I packed the car the night before, and on Saturday morning jumped in the car and turned the key. Nothing. I tried again. Nothing. Not a click, not a flicker of life, and all the icons lit up in red on the dashboard. Panic. I took a deep breath. I tried again. Nope. The car was dead. Shit. I swore at the car. I got out. I walked around the car. I kicked a tyre. I got back in and tried again. Nothing. I charged back into the house and looked up my insurance policy. I don’t have a home start. They will only help if I break down more than ¼ mile away from home. Double shit. It’s Saturday, so my garage is shut. I am in despair. I phoned Rachel, the organiser of the event. She freaks out. Asks her husband if there’s anything I can do. He suggests disconnecting and reconnecting the battery. Yeah, that’s not happening. I phoned Franki because misery loves company, and the ramifications of the car being dead would affect her, as I was supposed to be driving to Reading early the next morning to collect them.

She panics. I decide I have no other choice. I’ll have to rent a car for the weekend. I run to the nearest Enterprise hire place, which is luckily only five minutes away. I dash in like a madwoman, exclaiming how I need a car. NOW! The young guy blinked, then swung into action, asking questions, taking details. Five minutes later, I had a sweet deal of a nice mid-size car from Saturday morning to Tuesday morning for only £190. I wince. I know that’s cheap, but it’s still more than I was expecting to pay out when I got up that morning. He takes me out into the car park, and I follow, clutching my debit card. He shows me a nice car.

ME: Are there any quirks I need to know about?

HIM: It must be in first before you start the engine.

I stare at him. My brain freezes, then starts firing messages at me that perhaps I have done something very stupid. Did I not have the car in gear? Is that how my car works? No. I tell myself. It must be in neutral. I know it must be. I’ve been driving this car for two years now, so I should know. Ahh, but do you, though, sneers my brain. After all, you’ve not slept properly in days, so is it entirely impossible you had a blonde moment?

All this flashed through my brain in a nanosecond.

ME: I’m sorry. I just have to go and … check something. I may be back. I’m sorry.

And I run from the car park, leaving him still holding the key.

I run home. I jump in the car. I put it in first gear and turn the key. Bastard thing flies into life. I quickly phone Rachel. I’m coming, I tell her.

I drive to Stowmarket. I can’t find the car park. I drive around getting very hot and bothered until I suddenly find it. I park. I turn the engine off and wonder if it’ll start again later. But I can’t worry about that now. If it doesn’t, at least I’m now more than ¼ mile away from home, so the AA will have to come and rescue me. I load my trolley and rush to the hall where the event is being held. It’s due to start at 11. At 10:50, I charge in. By 11:03, I’m all set up. Years of practice paid off. I take a deep breath and treat myself to a coffee.

After all that, it was a lovely event. I’d only taken 28 books, and by the end, I’d sold 14, which is amazing. I met some lovely people. Networked with other authors. And had the enormous pleasure of hearing my winning 500-word story acted out loud by two actors from the local theatre group, which was amazing. At the end, I packed up my little trolley and trundled back to the car park. During the day, I’d thought about it a lot, and I was convinced that no, I had not made a mistake. That my car DOES need to be in neutral to start. Anyway, I loaded the car and got in. Taking a deep breath, I put the key in the ignition, checked that the car was in neutral and turned the key. It flew into life. Bloody bollicking bastard thing. I think it threw all its toys out of the pram merely to stretch my nerves even further to breaking point.

I drove home. Unpacked the car. Had dinner. I prepped dinner for Sunday night and made sure everything was ready for a very early start on Sunday morning.

I do sometimes wonder about the man I left in the Enterprise car park. I wonder how long he stood there, holding the keys to the hire car, wondering if I was ever coming back. Of course, I can never go back to Enterprise again. Ever.

Sunday. The alarm went off at 5:15am. I was up, dressed, had breakfast, and was on the road by 6:10am. It was a dream journey. The roads were empty, and by the time I hit the M25, it was still nice and clear. I made it to the university by about 8:30, which was good. We loaded the car up with as much as we could fit in, then headed for home. The roads were a bit busier but still not bad, and we made it back to mine by midday.

They settled in. We chilled. We popped to Waitrose for lunch things. We cooked dinner together. We watched a film. We relaxed. It was much needed.

Monday the 11^th. I was up and off to work as usual. Franki and Rys caught the train to Cambridge. They were meeting the letting agent at the house at 12:45 to have a walk-through, sign the contracts, and get the key. Then they were going to measure up and order what furniture they needed. When I finished work that evening, I dashed home and jumped in the car and drove to Cambridge. We’d had to leave all their stuff in the car overnight and for the day. I had put a message on the street’s WhatsApp asking if all my neighbours could keep an eye on it, so I knew it would be safe. Anyway, I got to their new house, we unloaded everything, I ate dinner with them, then left for home.

By this point, it was dark and spitting with rain. I was very tired and looking forward to bed. Unbeknownst to me, though, the slip road to get onto the motorway was shut for repair. Google Maps then proceeded to take me on a long detour. I drove miles out into the dark countryside. I had no idea where I was or how long it would take to get home. Or even IF I would ever get home. I went through a couple of tiny villages and out onto flat fenland. It was pitch dark. Suddenly, a huge SUV tore around the corner and forced me onto the side of the road. There was a bang, and I knew I’d hit something. I figured it was probably one of the boulders I’d spotted lining the edge of the road. I didn’t stop. The car was still going, and I couldn’t do anything about anything on my own at the edge of the pitch-dark field.

Finally, finally, Google Maps led me back onto the A14. It’s usually about a 35-minute drive from Franki’s house to mine. It took me just over an hour. I was done by the time I got home. Oh, and there was a metal double bedstead rattling around in the back of the car as well. It had been left behind by the previous tenants, but on close inspection turned out to be broken. They needed it out of the way before their new bed was delivered the next day. So, we heaved and shoved and managed to squeeze it into the back of my car. Once I arrived home, after I checked my wheels and realised my hubcap was damaged and knocked out of shape from the collision, I tried to book a slot at the local recycling yard for either Tuesday evening after work or Wednesday morning. The yard shut at 3.45 on a Tuesday and wasn’t open on Wednesday at all. Bugger. I had to get the bed out of my car by Wednesday afternoon because I was driving my parents to Cambridge to see the house, then bringing everyone, including Franki and Rys, back.

Briefly, I considered heaving the bed out and storing it in my house, then putting it all back in and trying to book a slot for some time on Thursday. That wouldn’t work, though, because there was a full day planned for Thursday as it was Franki’s birthday, plus I had a job interview (more on that later). There was nothing else for it. I booked a slot for 1:15pm on Tuesday.

I went to work as normal on Tuesday morning. Charged home at lunchtime. Jumped in the car and drove to the recycling yard. Heaved the bed out and threw away, along with some packing boxes and an old toaster, the tenant had also left. The damn thing left crumbs all over the inside of my car. I drove home. Parked. Stuffed an apple down my throat and then charged back to work.

On Wednesday, I had essential chores to do. Franki’s cakes and cookies to collect for their birthday tea that afternoon. I also vacuumed out my car. It looked like the bottom of a parrot’s cage, what with all the crumbs. I went to my parents, and Dad helped me check the oil, water, and screen wash ready for another trip to Reading. Then we went to Cambridge. My parents loved the house, but whilst we were there, something very odd happened. We became aware of a couple of people trying to access the house through the side gate. Concerned, we went outside to ask them what they were doing.

It was a mum, her daughter, and their dog. They had rented the house for a few days through Airbnb and had driven all the way down from Sheffield!! Stunned, we informed them that they couldn’t have, as Franki and Rys were the new tenants and had moved in on Monday. They showed us the booking confirmation, which they’d received the previous day, with a code for the lock box located on the gate post. We all looked. There was a key box, but the code they had didn’t open it.

Franki phoned the letting agent. They explained how it was strictly against their terms for the house to be sublet or rented out as a holiday let. The previous tenant had been doing this and got caught. Hence, his speedy eviction. That explained why these poor people thought they had a booking, but none of us could understand why the tenant had confirmed the booking the day before, when he had left the property the week previously. The poor people phoned the emergency number of Airbnb. Franki was asked to speak to them to confirm that she was the tenant of the property, and these people had been scammed. I don’t know what happened after that. They sat in their car for a while and then drove away. I guess maybe Airbnb had to arrange something else for them. I hope they found something. I felt so sorry for them. What a horrible thing to happen, especially after driving all that way.

Once they had gone, I drove Franki and me to the IKEA collection spot around the corner to collect a sideboard unit they had bought. It only just fitted in my poor little car. We put it in the dining room ready for them to build the next day, then we all climbed back in the car, and we drove my parents’ home, then went home ourselves.

We had a table booked at Damson & Wilde for the three of us to go out for dinner. Sadly, poor Rys had a funny tummy and was very sick, so we had to cancel our booking. Instead, Franki and I wandered to Waitrose and bought treats and wine for dinner. It was a lovely, warm evening, so we sat in the garden until almost midnight just relaxing and talking.

The next day, it was Franki’s birthday. My gift was tickets to go and see the original cast performing the musical Hamilton in a nearby city in October. She was delighted with them. The problem is, I bought these tickets way back in April when the plan was that Franki and Rys would not be moving back to Suffolk until late September. They would then live with me for however long it took them to find jobs and somewhere to live. The tickets are for a matinee performance on Wednesday, the 2^nd of October, so I felt confident they’d be able to go.

Of course, everything recently changed, and things happened so fast. New jobs, new home, and they moved back six weeks sooner than anticipated. Now, I don’t know what is happening. I took out the insurance, which means I can cancel and get a full refund up to a few hours before the performance, so I’m not worried about that. I am saddened that Franki might not get to go because I know how much she wants to. I’ve told them to wait until after they start work and know their shifts. They will also be entitled to holiday, and as they’re starting quite late in the year, they will probably have a few days they must use before the end of December, so it might work out. Either way, it makes sense not to rush and cancel when we might not have to. I know tickets are almost all sold out, and it would be a shame to panic cancel and then realise they could have gone after all.

Thursday afternoon, we went back to Cambridge. I helped Franki build the new sideboard whilst Rys made us all a lovely Chinese dinner. We chilled and watched TV, and then went to bed. I was sleeping in the loft. NEVER AGAIN. The mattress was paper-thin, and I felt every wooden bed slat through it. It had been a hot day, and it was a hot night. The loft was airless and baking hot. I had to leave the fan on all night, and it made so much noise I couldn’t sleep.

The next day, I was hollow-eyed with exhaustion. We had breakfast. Then Rys and I loaded my car with all the cardboard packaging from the furniture they’d had delivered the day before. They’d stuffed it into the summer house, which was full to the rafters. We concentrated on the cardboard first. Pulled it out, flattened it, got it in the car. The previous lodger had filled the bins with stinking rubbish that was attracting flies. They wouldn’t be emptied for a week, so we pulled out the cleanest of the bags — the ones I could stand to have in my car — and I booked another slot at the recycling yard. Rys and I jumped in the car, and off we went. Franki had to work on her Master’s, so we left them to it. Rys and I offloaded all the cardboard and the bags of rubbish. Stopped at the garage and refuelled the car. Dashed to the hardware store to buy a clothesline. Then went home. We had lunch. Cleaned out Poe the tortoise. Loaded him, his habitat, and all his supplies into the car and went back to Cambridge.

I helped them do a few bits and pieces. I put the clothesline up in the garden for them. Then I wearily climbed into my car again and left for home. It was 4:30pm when I left. There was an accident on the A14. It was all flashing blue lights, police and ambulances. We all sat in a traffic jam. In thirty degrees of heat. I didn’t get home until almost six. I peeled the wet clothes from my aching body. Showered. Had dinner. Went to bed.

Saturday. Up at 5:15am. I was on the road a little after six. Drove to Cambridge. Collected Rys. Set off for Reading again. They slept all the way there. I listened to the radio. Rys blinked awake.

ME: We’re about 15 minutes out.

RYS: Huh?

We reached the university at nine. Started loading the car. Then we had a situation. Rys forgot to take their lanyard out to the car with them. That lanyard is electronically tagged to act like a key. Without it, we couldn’t get through the two security doors to get into the flat. Rys went off to see if they could find someone, anyone, to let us in. Most people had moved out already. It was a Saturday. They weren’t hopeful of finding anyone.

I waited and waited. Everything I had on me was in that flat. Car keys. My phone. My purse. I could do nothing. I saw a flicker of movement in one of the ground-floor dorm rooms. I hopped over the low hedge and knocked on the window. A young girl came to the window and looked suspiciously at me. I gave her my most reassuring mumsy smile and explained what had happened. She very kindly came and let me into the building. I grabbed the lanyard and phoned Rys. Their mother had also just arrived at the university and was looking for the car park. I told Rys I’d managed to get into the flat.

RYS: How did you do that?

ME: I knocked on a window and explained the situation to the young girl inside. She kindly let me in.

RYS: Of course, you did.

We fitted everything else into Fiona’s car (Rys’s mum). The plan had been for Rys to drive back with me, but plans were changed at the last minute as Fiona needed fuel, so I drove back alone. The drive back was fine until I hit Cambridge. Coming in from a different direction, I had no idea where I was or how to get to Franki’s. Google Maps then went ditsy on me. It didn’t know its left from its right. It sent me round in circles. Repeatedly. Cambridge was busy. Traffic was everywhere and unforgiving of an exhausted woman stressed out of her head, being led on a merry chase by Google Maps.

Eventually, I stopped listening to it and went in the opposite direction it suggested. It sulked for a few streets, then settled down and managed to get me to Franki. We had time to unpack my car before the second car arrived. We unpacked that. They showed Fiona around the house. We had a brief lunch. Then she and I stuffed my car with all the packaging left in the summer house, and I managed to book the last slot of the day (4.45pm) at the recycling yard. I did a few more things to help, then I climbed wearily into the car and headed for home. Praying for no more diversions, accidents, or Google Maps shenanigans, I reached the recycling yard in time, unloaded and dumped all the packaging, then went home where I cooked and ate dinner and was in bed and asleep by 8:30pm.

I slept for over 12 hours. 12 hours!! That’s almost three nights of normal sleep for me. Today, I had things I needed to do, but I simply could not do anything. All I have done is write this blog. I honestly don’t think I have ever been so drained of the will to live before.

I NEVER want to drive to Reading again.

Franki informs me their graduation is in January. In fecking Reading!! Kill me now.

Luckily, I’m not working tomorrow. I would be normally, but the new woman is being trained, so I don’t have to go to work until Thursday. Praise be. I honestly don’t think I could have managed to get everything done today to go back to work tomorrow.

Oh, and about that job interview. I saw a perfect nine-hour-a-week job advertised on Indeed. It was at the local vets, a ten-minute walk away. It’s reception work. The hours fit around my current workdays of Monday and Tuesday. As I said, perfect. I applied. Went for an interview on Thursday morning. It was lovely and everything was fine until I said I would be unavailable on Mondays and Tuesdays each week. Then I felt the atmosphere change. Maybe even though it’s only nine hours a week, they want the applicant to be available 24/7 to cover sickness and holiday absence. Who knows. Oh well.

Anyway, that is you up to date now. This has turned out to be the largest blog ever, and there are still things I haven’t shared with you. Next time. Who knows what will have happened by then? But now it’s late and I need to eat.

Take care, everyone. Oh, and don’t forget that I’m an author, so I’d really appreciate it if you’re thinking of buying a book, that you give mine a look. I could do with the royalty, lol.

Julia Blake