Love in the time of Malt Vinegar.

I'd like to say that peace has resumed now the packers are gone, but whilst writing this I can hear LMB and Master Beehive the younger at loggerheads upstairs which, in a house with minimal furniture now, echoes!

The rental furniture company brought the furniture yesterday, which was interesting to say the least, as at one point yesterday there were 8 burly men inside my low ceiling-ed, twisty corridor-ed farmhouse!

"After you",

"No, after you",

"No, I insist"

"But I insist more!!"

So, now my house resembles something probably far more suited to Mrs Hannigan's guest house for slappers on Blackpool seafront* but it works for the short time.

I've been gradually collecting the bits that were forgotten by the movers which now have to go in our airshipment. Fortunately they aren't too big, a table lamp, a step stool, some oddments and......my bottle of unopened malt vinegar. I can't believe they left the malt vinegar. That vinegar travelled all the way from Cape Cod to be in my kitchen in CT and it is going to the UK by hell or high water!! You can take the girl out of the UK, but you can't take the UK out of the girl - I like my malt vinegar on a nice haddock and chips!

Okay, because I know you're thinking "you can get malt vinegar in the UK", but you can't get it here, so the search that ensued last year when we found a restaurant that was offering it up with chips (yes, you read that right!) meant there had to be a source......somewhere....a supplier.....a spare unopened bottle in the restaurant (not really ;-))

So, now this precious bottle (still unopened you note) is sitting here on my counter top, looking at me, rejected. Not so worthy as to make it into the sea shipment.

Still, never mind, I think with the Blackpool decor, satin effect slightly smoke scented quilted throw with matching pillows (that I am too scared to use for fear of them spontaneously combusting on me in my sleep), and thin sandpaper towels that give you that freshly exfoliated feeling every time, it'll feel just right at home. All I need now is a bag of greasy chips and a styrofoam cup of mushy peas. What a night!

*disclaimer - Mrs Hannigans is not a real guest house and I apologise to all slappers if it appears I am insinuating that you would hang out in Blackpool, which of course, I am not.