Peter the packer, Mr Tempting Fate himself, has been on my mind a lot lately.  Please don’t misunderstand, it’s not that I miss him, neither is it his cheery disposition as he rode roughshod over all my plans that has me thinking about him so much and even calling his name randomly.  It is the fact that, in his infinite wisdom, he packed a lot of stuff and marked it for storage when it was supposed to come here.  

I suppose I should be grateful that all of our food made it here (at least I hope it did).  I cannot imagine anything worse than opening a box and finding rotting fish/eggs/cheese in it.  Let us hope for the sake of my sanity that as I was on top of the food situation, this didn’t happen.  Anyway,  presumably someone in the storage facility will start looking for bodies when the smell drifts into the corridor and when they write to me and ask me why I thought storing Stilton was a good idea, I will point out that it was originally Caerphilly and they should look no further than Peter their idiot packing savant.

What Peter did see fit to pack away and store though, was all of my cleaning products.  Like I was moving into a hotel or something and wouldn’t need them for 6 months.  I mean everything.  Cloths, wipes, furniture polish, detergent spray, washing up liquid, dusters etc etc.  He even packed the tissues and kitchen paper.  Now I know it isn’t the end of the world.  The stuff won’t go off, and (all things being equal) in six months when we move into our next place, it will come out of storage ready to make things sparkle.  But it is really annoying to assume you have stuff and then when you reach for it it isn’t there.

As it is, I have been out to the local supermarket on six different occasions.  Once for flash spray, once with a runny nose for tissues and four other times mid-clean for other things.  This isn’t Peter’s fault, I hasten to add.  This is the physical embodiment of the Greek expression: “Whomsoever doesn’t have a brain, has feet.”  Still though, every time it happens I shout ” OH PETER!!!” in an exasperated tone.

My neighbours came round the other day to introduce themselves.  I told them that my sister D was at work.

“And your husband Peter?”  they asked politely.

I paused.  “Peter?”  I asked, confused.

“Yes, is he here?”

I racked my brain trying to think of why they were asking for my husband Peter.

“Er, I’m not married,” I said.  “No Peter.”

“Oh, sorry, ok.  Boyfriend then?”

“No, no boyfriend, partner, husband.  No Peter lives here. Just me and D.”

Their confusion was evident, they looked at each other nonplussed.

“Well, welcome they said, we’re just next door if you need anything.”  They left.

I couldn’t work it out until the next time I reached for something I no longer had and shouted “Oh Peter!”  Then it hit me.  The neighbours hear me shouting Peter and either assume that he’s an animal in bed, or in serious trouble.  They thought I was lying when I told them there was no man named Peter.  They probably think I am one of those creepy women who keep a sex slave tied to the bed.  This is a disaster.  Way to make the neighbours feel comfortable and friendly.  Oh well, eventually I assume I’ll stop discovering new things I don’t have and therefore stop shouting out his name so often.  I hope they don’t decide to call that hotline you’re supposed to call and say “It’s probably nothing…” before that happens.

As for the rest, the flat is working out nicely.  Our brother-in-law A, came round today and put up the shelves in D’s room and now the hairbands, earrings and other paraphernalia is no longer in the living room.  Currently we are in a battle of wills about a calendar she would like to put up.  I am not kidding this calendar is called “Toilets of the World”.  No seriously.  Toilets of the flipping world, and she expects me to be alright with hanging that thing up somewhere in the house.  I told her that her room would be the only acceptable place for it.  I mean really.  I don’t think I am being unreasonable here.  I do foresee myself breaking down and letting her put it up the bathroom though.  I just want to make my point that toilets, much like accessories and jewellery are not decorative items.  I don’t think it is going to sink in though.