So you take the decision and make all the arrangement. Take the cats to the vets (repeatedly), spend all your money on rabies shots (for the cats not yourself) and anticipate them freaking out completely over having to go by plane all by themselves to Manchester and then - as if that wasn't enough - having to go in a car with cat-killer-and-by-the-way-we-know-you-are-evil Hugh for long hours just to get to a complete strange place that isn't even their final destination.
You spend weeks sorting out and packing your stuff, throw away most of your possessions, use up all of your friends loyalty by asking favour after favour and still don't really make it. Because you have promised the next tennant to move in early you end up stressing out no end because you realise very late on that you will not be able to clean out the flat in the way you had imagined you would.
(Then you spend some time seething because the next tennant is throwing a total wobbler and acting as if she had the right to get in there early)
But then you get on the plane and the weather is lovely and you spot all the members of Primal Scream on the airport thinking that this must be a good omen.
Your loved one picks you up at the airport and just as you enter Scotland the sun is setting and you get that wonderful relaxed feeling in your stomach as you always do when in Glasgow. Aaaah.
Then you get up one morning and open the kitchen door and it looks like this.
Because - as you look closer - there is one big whopping hole in your ceiling!
Luckily, you don't have to clean it up yourself.
Aaah, life in Glasgow. Don't you just love it!
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