the new 11 sleeps

homeless [check]

HA! That's it. It's all done. I am now officially reduced, after having everything stolen/losing stuff/donating the rest to charity, to one 30kg bag. Is it as nice and as liberating as everyone says? Sure, I suppose. Would be a lot more if I was 22 and leaving the country for the first time... but I digress.

TheGreek and I have been doing a mover comparison. We each have hired our own guys to do the moving thing over the past couple of days. I got a dude, his mate, and a mini-bakkie (pick up truck) thing for R450 to move my charity stuff from the flat to the school. They came, they packed, they tied the stuff down, they got stuck in a driveway for a while then they moved it. Fabulous. Relatively painless. Of course, as soon as the stuff was gone I had a bit of a cadenza and Cold Feet were in effect big time. TheGreek was like: You have nothing left. You have no job. Everything you wanted was stolen and everything you didn't want you gave away. What are you going to do, rugby tackle the 8 year old underprivileged child for the blow dryer you gave away then rebuild it from there? I debated this for a moment. Then I listened to some Vanilla Ice and it was ok. Ice! Ice! Baby!

TheGreek got a guy for R540. He showed up today after I had left. It was the dude and his bakkie and that was it. theGreek, ever the efficient handyman (I say with a twinkle in my eye and chuckle in my throat), was like: can you move this all on your own? And dude was like: um, yes, except for the couch, the bed, the fridge and the hall stand. HA! So guess what theGreek spent the afternoon doing? HAHAHAHHAHA. I laugh. I'm sorry, but I do.

But, my moving-in-with-theGreek-movers take the cake. That was the piece de resistance of moving. The Michaelangelo, if you will. Or the Gaudi. Take your pick. I called this dude, Mr September, and asked him to move me. He quoted me R650, and I thought: I don't care as long as I don't have to move it myself. On the day, Mr September rocked up in a pimped out late 80s Eclass Mercedes, with rolling mags, playboy stickers all over and the following wording on the back of his vehicle: "I'm pimpin' and I'm stylin' and I know you want me". Ok, this was my mover. I asked him how we were going to move. He said: here comes my truck. As sure as the sky is blue, this FkN BEAST of a truck, like a full on long haul transport truck that was old old old and grunting the entire way, reversed up my road. It stopped. And, as sure as the sun is hot, a veritable army of men hopped out the back of that truck and looked at Mr September. Mr September tossed a hand in the general direction of my stuff. They loaded me in 12 minutes flat, with me screeching after them: No! No! Please don't bubble wrap my orchid!. Then, they followed me in the Bullet (not TheNotTheBullet, the actual Bullet herself) through town and into Sea Point, where they unloaded me in 17 minutes flat (including the stairs).

Best R650 I ever spent.