Bright sides outshine grumpiness and malcontent. Slowly but surely, boxes are emptied and broken down, placed aside for collection by the movers. Soon the remote controls will be found and the television will show the dreadful news from around the world. Somehow we'll find space for all of the kitchen stuff. I'm not sure how. A six foot ten camp family friend claims it's a tardis; far larger on the inside than it seems on the outside. He calls it a blank canvas.
There is a new Belfry, complete with an ensuite roof terrace. There are, as far as I can tell, no armies of spiders and bugs waiting in the shadows to fight their war in the nooks and crannies. There are no low-lying beams waiting to cause irreversible brain damage. The floor doesn't splinter when I roll my desk chair over it. No trees claw their branches along the roof tiles. What it lacks in rustic charm and idiosyncrasies it makes up for in storage space and creature comforts. But, as nice and comfortable as it is, it's not it's not my Belfry. My time here is limited. Borrowed, even. So I best take advantage of it while I can.
No more food poisoning either, which is nice.
And The Blind Boys of Alabama cover of Spirit in the Sky is tremendous. I may have mentioned that before, but I've rediscovered it and am loving it.