Okay, stoppit, no more whiny goodbye posts. Promise.
I've started a fantastic new life, which includes someone called Julio (pronounced Hoo-lio) and a pair of trackpants and loads of music and merryment. I'm packing off the Aunties for a pretty little picnic for a bit and letting Jane Fonda (we share the same birthday) take over. So Jane and Julio are totally working it and it's for the best.
I have also been appointed the official cleaning lady of the house. I am so bizziarely good with menial work it's not even funny. I can cook, clean and wash and I'm seriously considering it as a career option. There's so much peace in housework sometimes. Just you, your music and a mop. There is one part I hate though. Folding. I hate folding clothes and keeping them in their place. It's just no fun.
I climbed fourteen floors today - and funnily, wasn't as breathless as I thought I would be. Also discovered a little terrace like extention on the 16th floor landing, which no-one uses, and could be 'put to use' so to speak, if I wished.
I feel a bit like Zorba the Greek at the moment.