Everything must go, go, go. Either that or I'll just dump it somewhere

So I've been busy purging my life of the expensive and mostly useless tat that I've been acquiring over my 28 years of existence. This has resulted in a net profit of, oooh, two or three hundred pounds. Well, I say profit very loosely due to the fact (that I'm trying to ignore) that all this stuff probably cost me well in excess of £2000. Money, I might add, that was earnt working in a factory making plastic kettle filters for 4 pound an hour. I'm sure I could have got more money working in a Chinese sweatshop, but at least I avoided communism.

Tomorrow's sale will include an array of games consoles from yesteryear. Now, where did I leave perfect dark, god I loved the multiplayer on that badboy.

I haven't been doing a great deal of ACTUAL work on my moving. This has mostly been due to the fact that I've got bored of whittling down my ever increasing list of 'shit to do before I leave'. But:

I spoke to my (slightly unhelpful) removals company and made up a pseudo-hefty inventory.

I spoke to my (highly unhelpful) bank about emigrating. They talked in circles for ages trying to get me to open a new account because I need to open a new account, I need a new account if I'm going abroad where I'll require a new account... new account. Turns out it was nonsense and the lady with beautiful eyes was just trying to lure me into some sort of trap like a financial Siren with eyes.

I spoke to the citizen's advice bureaux and that was TRUELY the most unhelpful experience thus far. Infact it was so unhelpful that it was helpful. All the people in there had bad teeth, there was almost a 'punch up' (I believe that's what people call them) one time (I went three times). The incredibly nice lady said that in all their time there they'd never had anyone ask about emigrating before and it turns out they didn't have any information. That wasn't what the other old lady said before I'd waited a total of three hours. Still, I did get to hear lots of gossip about the CAB, according to the lady, all immigrants just sit around in their pants and live off benefits. Maybe the daily mail WASN'T lying.

Everyone keeps saying how envious of me they are... but I'm kind of up and down about it. I mean, sure it'll enliven my life and open my mind a little, but... well, I hear the Spanish don't like donkeys, infact I hear they throw rocks at donkeys... and I love donkeys. I don't want my new culture to desensitise me to 'donkey stonings', but maybe I'll warm to it.

I love donkeys. They're nature's punch line, the poor bastards.

I read somewhere that Palestinians have used donkey's as suicide bombers. I'd argue that the donkey doesn't really know what the hell's going on so it's not really a suicide... but that's just me being a pedant. I guess the last thing on the donkey's mind as it's getting blown up is the incorrect use of the word suicide.

R