It's aliiiiiiiive (or why I hate being disconnected from the internet)

John and I have moved from a neighbourhood that was pretty much in downtown Sheff to a wee village sort of halfway between Sheffield and Rotherham (other city, smaller than Sheffield) called Catcliffe. Ancestral home of coal miners and glass workers, Catcliffe is sleepy and recovering from being flooded out during the June flooding. Don't worry, John checked the flood maps before we signed the lease!
Unfortunately, it takes ages to get a phone line/internet/connection to the real world set up, so we've been offline for what feels like ages (and is really more like 6 days). I am getting a mobile phone on Friday, when I get my first paycheque (it will take an entire other post to explain why one should not pay HSBC for the 'service' of their 'instant and easy to use' Passport bank account, and also why Sbux payroll can suck my cat's anus), and we should have internet at home on a regular basis by then. For now, I am stealing someone's wireless signal and cherishing every moment of Facebook time that I get. Especially since we are still sharing a computer.
Work is great (busy), the flat is beautiful (nicest place I have ever lived), I am thinking of taking horse riding lessons (if I can track the trail of horse poo on our lane to the source), and a king sized bed has made life so very, very much better.
More updates soon, but now I have pizzas to make, ale to drink, and BBC to watch.