The Waiting Game
I have no idea why they call it the waiting game.
There may be waiting involved, but it’s not a game. It’s not fun, competitive, or remotely satisfactory.
My English teacher (c.1987) told us never to use the word ‘nice’ or ‘boring’. She said that it didn’t describe anything; I’m sorry Mrs. Hunn, but I’m BORED of waiting. I want news, even if it’s bad news, and I suspect Danny is deeply concerned that I’m going to drive our new mortgage broker mental while he’s away in France for a week (yes, he’s going away again – don’t worry, I’ll get my own back eventually).
Waiting: not something I’m proving to be very good at and, funnily enough, that doesn’t surprise me in the least.
Danny seems completely capable of sending the odd email, and just sitting back and saying ‘He’ll call if there’s news’. Me, on the other hand, I am suggesting that we call the proprietors of Porthminster View every week “just to ensure they don’t sell the house to anyone else”, or the mortgage broker every day “to see if he’s heard anything”. I am perfectly capable of driving everyone around me completely bonkers, and can only thank the relevant God that I have people in my life that offer me some sense of perspective, and remind me on a daily basis that I cannot affect the outcome of this, no matter how many calls I make, or how many times I rewrite the business plan.
To all of you out there that are following our journey, and being incredibly supportive, and loving, and patient… thank you ever so much, and in answer to your question there’s no news yet.