Operation "Get That Rat Out of my Flat" Complete!

Haaaaaaa. This is me breathing a whackin' great honkin' sigh of relief. My move is over with, at last, and I don't even have to call this entry "Stella Screws Up my Move, Part the Second". I mean, I wouldn't say my move was entirely unscrewy, but Stella was not responsible. Stella sat in her cage, cool as a cucumber, throughout the whole ordeal. She snoozed away with Zen-like composure as her cage was wheeled away with her still in it. Nobody got bitten, not even the careless mover who stuck his arm in the cage for a better grip.

The new Rat's Nest is full of bags and boxes, and even thus cluttered, it looks better than the old one. It's got pine floors and pine cabinets, which gleam mellowly in the firelight. In the firelight! That's right--there's a gas fireplace, if you'd credit it, and stylish faux-granite tiling in the kitchen, and a shower with a cavernous bathtub, and a simply enormous washing machine (I think I could fit all my clothes in there at the same time!). There's a fridge the size of Stella's cage, plus another half-cage for the freezer, and a dishwasher that doesn't leave manky dried-up food particles on the plates. There are light fixtures in every room, and nearly all of them work. There's even a room just for Stella, imaginatively designated the Rat Room. The Rat Room has a huge picture-window that looks out over the living room, so I can make sure she's still in her cage any time I want to. (And even if she's not in her cage, she can't be out invading anything important--the Rat Room can be closed off entirely with a pair of sliding doors.)

The only downside is the bedroom. The bedroom is arse-ugly. It's got the grottiest beige carpet imaginable, and a weird blue wall. However, this doesn't bother me in the slightest, because I go in my bedroom, what, once or twice a year?

At any rate, I've got Snarling and Scratch out, and Giggerota's ashes, and the rest of my silly wee tchotchkes. It's starting to look quite a lot like home around here. And tomorrow, once the cable guy's been, it'll sound like home, and all. Oh, my laugh-tracks and my commercial jingles; oh, my CityTV and my Chinese news lady; and, oh, my beloved Ripley's Believe It or Not--how I've missed you! Don't ever leave me again. Your voices are my lullabies. How long has it been since I've heard that talking dog go "I love Owen"? (Well, what he really says is "Yaaaa hahhhh waaaah-waaaah, but what can you expect from a dog?)

I'm so relieved to be here, at long last. I won't even get into all the bother it took to get me here. Or--or, all right, I will, but I'll just put it in a nutshell, sort of thing. There was... (imagine me taking a deep breath) ...a swearing building manager with wicked PMS, a mover who wouldn't take Visa, two guys who didn't speak English, one accommodating landlord (thank heavens for him), one garbage disaster, a broken telephone, a mislaid watch, a cataclysmic paper explosion, a bottomless box, a missing towel-rack, three broken nails, a bunch of sticky shit everywhere because the old tenants didn't clean up before they left, a tube of Canesten vagina cream (for the same reason), and a nasty cold that only lasted a day. Atchoo.

There was also a portrait of someone's dog gone horribly awry, but let's not dwell on that, shall we? I think I've fixed it now. Just a few finishing touches on that, and then I'll be able to get started on a new horror comic I'm doing (for a British horror rag, this time). I've been looking forward to starting on this--they're letting me do a rat story--a dead rat story, even! It will be called, of course, "Ratty's Ghost", because I am a wanker who re-uses titles wherever possible.

I suppose I'd better come up with a Christmas card, too. I've not done one yet this year. If I don't get one in within the next couple of days, it'll be too late. Sod. Which box were my pens in, again? And were there any unbroken inkbottles?

But, as they say, what the hell--I'm home! First thing I did when I got here was look out the window. I looked all the way to the left, as far as I could see, and all the way to the right, as far as I could see. I saw a Toyota dealership and an optometrist's shop and a bank. I saw (and heard) a honky intersection. I furthermore saw a dust-truck holding up traffic, and a lot of parked cars. I saw people bustling about with their brollies up. I saw streetlamps and apartment buildings and Christmas lights, but the best part was what I didn't see.

That's right, folks--no brothel! I am no longer across the street from a brothel (unless, of course, it's very well-concealed). If anyone should happen to know of some brothel around the one-thousand block of Burnaby Street, ah, let them keep quiet about it in my presence! Ignorance, in this case, is bliss.