We've moved,

and while that may sound like a happily done and dusted, self-contained utterance, it required tediously large amounts of effort. In fact, I say 'done and dusted', but the new flat was, if possible, more dusty than the last one. (Ho! There's nothing like a smooth link, and that was nothing like a smooth link.) The previous tenants must have been either continually moulting or collectively suffering from some rampant skin disease.

And on that note, let's leave the dust topic.

On Friday night, Dave and Michelle invited me along to a(nother) curry night at their friend Lee's flat. There have been a couple of six degrees of separation-style revelations recently; at Davis' wedding, I found out that Charlie, Coba Fynn's singer, went to school with and is friendly with Tim Wheeler (of Ash) who in turn is the brother of Pat Wheeler, one of Katie's art college mates. Then at Lee's the other night, in between vigorous consumption of too many beers, it turned out that Lee knows Ally, Katie's brother, through Japanese embassy/TEFL connections.

After the curry fest, we headed out to meet up with the rest of the Mafia. This is roughly where my actual memory of the events starts to break up and where conjecture and hearsay take over, so I'll summarise by saying that the only thing you need to know is that I fell messily down the stairs on the way out of Teviot at 3 am.

Post hangover, I hired another van on Saturday so we could complete the move from Devon's to the new flat. It all went remarkably smoothly and thankfully there was little of note worth elaborating about here. We cobbled together another superset of the Mafia that night for a mini pub-crawl up Broughton Street - our new 'hood - but I flaked out around 1 am. A week of recuperation is called for before any further attacks in the War on Beer can be attempted.

Sunday seemed to last forever. Neil, Josh and I IKEA'd in the van, picking up odds and ends like wastepaper bins and lightbulbs. Josh bought a desk (called Årsehöl or something) for his decks. Homebase was next; I got some compost to re-pot my two long-suffering houseplants, neither of which has been fed or re-potted for the last four years and yet incredibly still cling to life. They've suffered enough: new flat, new gardening responsibilities.

Having said that, when I got back to the flat I couldn't be arsed. They'll have to struggle on for another day or two.

I managed to miss half of The O.C. but was too knackered to get particularly annoyed. I'm glad that we've finally moved; with any luck, the next week will be a very, very quiet one.