I miss both my babies now.

As soon as I stop enjoying myself so damn much I'll post about family vacation at Hilton Head. But for now, here is me and my beloved. Is it just me, or do we look like brother and sister?

Pack it up, pack it in

I'm off to these great United States for a month of actual summer. The highlight? Seeing this guy:

They're scrapping our car

Something about the f***edupedness of the steering column making it beyond repair. And thus we reach the end of a very long and irritating journey. So, yeah. 

In other news, I am coming home! A week from today I shall arrive in a warm and sunny place, and will be able to wear actual tank tops and pretty skirts without all that pesky shivering and goosebumping. Life is good.

Still no sign of the Micra

It's out there. Somewhere. But we can't get it until the police "release" it, which of course they won't do, because they thought they already did when they said "Your car is here, go and get it." This bit of verbal assent is simply not good enough for Mr. McFie. For him, apparently the entire police force must show up at the garage and hand in individual release forms signed by their mothers. Only this will convince him of the fact that we are allowed to take our own car. Until then, there will be a $40 a day "storage" fee, thank you very much, for the burden of having to hold someone else's car.

Luckily the insurance is covering this. But still. 

I feel very fragile lately. I am somehow acutely aware all of a sudden of consumer capitalist culture, how evil it is. Just how everything costs. The fact that behind every activity, every little thing we do during the day, someone is standing with his hand out, looking to make a buck. It's not that I have to worry about money necessarily, I know I'm very lucky that way. It's just that there is so much want, and want, and WANT, and so many people buying up beautiful things and places that should belong to everyone, and so many bills and fees and fines, and all of it makes me want to run away to Alaska and grow my own food and be a hermit. Is there a Unabomber inside me somewhere, just dying to get out? 

Maybe.