Finally got round to moving house yesterday. Been looking for a while, and finally found pretty close to what we were after. So a relative turns up with his three youngsters (to help in the move) on Saturday night, and i indulged in an ale or two secure in the knowledge that it was all going to be pretty painless. Yesterday morning dawned, and the first load was on the pick-up within an hour, and off we set on the ten minute drive. After a bit of reversing and such, the pick-up was in position to offload the first batch. Then we meet one of the neighbours for the first time. Very wet and irate and pointing at the ruptured plastic pipe at the front of her house that resembled a fountain. No worries, things were smoothed out by the missus phoning up the Mr. Fixit who lives next door to where we were moving from, and twenty minutes later the old bloke is busy repairing the busted waterworks. We unloaded the gear, and returned to our old gaff followed by the Mr. Fixit on his motorbike. Unfortunately more reversing of the pick-up was neccessary, the reversing manouvre accompanied by a loud crack and a spewing forth of yet another fountain where previously there was none. The old guy gets off his bike, opens up his toolbox and starts to repair the second busted pipe in less than an hour, without even changing pace. It was his pipe we ran over this time. I was rucked up laughing, as was the old Mr. Fixit, whose only request for payment for his work yesterday was the promise of a seat by my TV for the first Stoke match of the season in August.