Van out

It’s unusual, not having the van anymore. I haven’t adjusted at all. Sure, the flat is full of boxes. But I woke up this morning worried. Usually in the mornings I have to either get into it and move it, or start paying RBKC their blood money. Suddenly that worry is gone, but I still wake up feeling like there’s something I have to attend to.

It hasn’t stopped me from going to the window when I hear a banging noise to check on it. Even though it sat there happily the whole time, without getting robbed. Sure we are in Chelsea but that’s still central London. As often as not I left the back unlocked. And you can’t lock the front so a dedicated wrong’un will always get in if they want to. And yet, in the same street where they steal motorbikes like actors grabbing press night bubbly, it was never broken into. I lost sleep over the possibility it would be. But keeping it looking scruffy, and parking it with the shutters out to the road … Perhaps this all contributed to the safety. It’s gone now, with a million records and some attractive bits of my mum’s stuff. I shot up some vintage brass lights after checking out an image of my friend’s vintage emporium in York. It’ll take me over a year to get round to them at the pace I’m going, so it’s better to throw them in the way of an expert. I have way too much to sort anyway, her stuff always triggers me a bit, and attic space is at a premium. The next month is about getting stuff out. Here’s a start. Out.

I spent time with a good friend in the evening, and it made me realise what an anchor that van has been, with me always having to be near it. I’ve probably been a crap friend to everybody but Pickle and the van. Now the van has gone I’ll need to remember what it means to be sociable again. Scaffolding is down, and as Phil took the van back up north last night, the Scorpio full moon looked in. Mum’s sign. It can’t be anything other than auspicious.

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Yesterday when I was in the street I spoke to an estate agent who told me how much it would cost to add 99 years to my 28 year remaining leasehold. It’s four times what I feared. An impossible sum. I’ll either have to get rich or move out quick. She presented the figure like it was a bargain. Worlds. I guess I’ll have to start thinking about what to do when I get old. I might have to move out of here before long to make sure I’m not shafted in the long term. Either that, win the lottery or get famous ..

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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