ANGRY NIGHT

I had an angry night the other night. It’s rare for me - like a blue moon on a Sunday. But there it was. I felt as though my emotions were somehow fluid, like a liquid pounding, broiling through my livid veins.

We’d been told we needed to wait another six weeks for the house, and for no apparent reason at all! I was calm on the phone, but it seems my blood took a while to boil, and, as it turned out, a lot longer to cool down again afterwards.

The worst thing about feeling like that is the effort to control it. We channelled it into an email that was as terse as it was biting, and then I did my best to let it go into the cool damp air of the night sky. I felt like a sap, like someone was taking advantage of our meekness, our quietness, our niceness - and thirty years of feeling like the one who always bows and bends out of the way was bubbling in me like a hot volcano. After all we’d done to wait patiently and be homeless for 18 weeks, we were once again being pushed around. And I had had, and have had enough of that.

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As it happened, we didn’t send the email. The next day, we were told that the situation had changed again and that actually we could now aim for a much closer date - January 20th.

We didn’t pop open the Prosecco, though you could understand if we had. The truth is that Sammy and I both feel a bit broken by all of this, and she, almost too cautious now to celebrate anything until we’ve got the keys in our hand, gently went on folding clothes as though nothing had happened.

Why in the world can’t I be cool? You know sort of assertive and strong but not compromising when it matters? Why can’t I be fierce in those rare moments without feeling like it’s about to loop out of control?

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Anyway, it is great news that we can finally move! If the solicitors agree, I don’t think there’s much to stop us now, which is just brilliant after all these months. I just hope nothing else blows up in the meantime. Especially me.