The Waiting Game

So, this is where it gets boring. The target exchange date (which I thought was rather ambitious in the first place but soon allowed myself to get over excited about) has come and gone and I'm still yet to exchange anything. I'm not even sure what the exchange entails or what it is I'm supposed to exchange, in exchange for what. I thought the whole thing was an exchange anyway, as in he gets money, I get a flat. It sounds like some kind of cryptic ceremony and it makes me think of bodily fluids. Speculation aside, what I do know is it's the thing that happens like 11 days before completion, and completion is when I get to go inhabit the place. My solicitor is being evasive and non-committal but still frustratingly nice so it's difficult to direct my impatience effectively. I want to pick up the phone and yell at someone, but there's no one I can think of calling who could actually help. God? I guess this is what God and talk radio are for. Anyway, in a beautifully poetic and serendipitous moment, walking around Putney in the sunshine this weekend I came across this lovely clock, which looks like it should be hanging on the wall of the lunchroom of some ultra grim factory in 1962. And I thought, that's the clock for me. At least if I have to wait indefinitely I'll have something nice to look at.