Moving Right Along

It's been a couple of weeks between posts, which is longer than I generally like to go. Sorry about that, but as you may have read a couple of posts back, my life has been a little fluxious of late by virtue of me not having anywhere to live. My good friends Tim and Jess were awesome enough to lend me a spare room for a week while I got back on my feet. But it's taken me a little while to re-establish a base of operations solid enough to support the resumption of my meteoric blogging career.

As I'm sure you're all aware, it requires a great deal of stability, consistency and stoicism to produce the sort of well thought out, thoroughly researched, poignant, incisive and totally-not-scibbled-out-after-drinking-half-a-bottle-of-wine-and-watching-three-straight-episodes-of-Burn-Notice material that so graciously and effortlessly adorns the pages of Cum Tacent Clament.

And for those of you who were wondering: Yes 'fluxious' is the adjective of 'in-flux' and no, it's not a real word.

If it were a real word, it would do a great job of describing my life at the moment. I've just moved into a new place in Malak, and come home to find it half full of water. Some attention is needed in the roof, I fear. It's in Malak in the northern suburbs of Darwin and I've been offered a room here with absolutely no help from the local real estate industry. From the time I discovered I was going to have to move out I had two weeks to find myself a new room. In all that time the local real estate websites turned up exactly one room that was suitable and in my price range. I checked it out and applied for it and after jerking me around for a week the agent gave it to someone else.

So I moved in to Tim and Jess' daughters' toy room and put out a distress call at Church on Sunday morning. By Sunday night I had options and by Monday evening I had a new home. So suck it, real estate agents. The local church is better than you, free, and doesn't require me to submit contact details for two references, three previous landlords and my employer along with my passport number and the model of car I drive before deciding not to help me. Shove it!

Fluxation (fluctuation? Yeah, probably) number two: I'm looking for a new job (nb. 2011 checklist on the sidebar). For some time now I've been developing a certain rapport with the human resources manager at the local newspaper. Our blossoming relationship has developed an observable behavioural pattern whereby I send her a charming and eloquently penned application letter and she sends me a heartfelt and passionately photocopied burn rejection notice. This has been going on for some eight months now and I'm considering the wisdom of discontinuing our correspondence before people start to talk. The last thing I need is my name splashed all over the the ... tabloids...

Wait...

Maybe I'll just send her a bouquet of orchids with the next copy of my résumé. I received another rejection notice this week which contained just the faintest hint of lavender perfume - a remarkable achievement for an email attachment, I'm sure you'll agree. The long game continues.

Fluxification number three: My name is Michael Westen. I used to be a spy, until...

Oh go on. Make of that what you will.




Garry with 2 Rs