what's the difference between a duck?

Since I've neglected tales from Athens, I tease you now with this,
a picture of my favourite piece of art from Athens.

Documentary edit due in less than a week on top of damaged cartilage in left wrist finally meriting a trip to the quack on top of moving out of apartment by today, and poor mollyblog gets left untouched, not updated, and basically neglected. The documentary edit is coming along. I don't know if anyone who wasn't involved with the Tour of Ireland will find this movie I'm cutting interesting, but it's my hope that those who were will enjoy it repeatedly, at least. I'm just sitting here watching back last night's cutting efforts and giggling, which means I must be doing the right thing, even when it's fueled by a bottle of bubbly.

Why the bubbly? Because I was having a preemptive celebration of the ceremony, which actually took place this morning, in which I handed the keys to my apartment back the the letting agent and was finally MOVED. The bubbly also served to take the edge off the pain in my wrist, which for some reason makes funny clicky noises and yesterday the doctor made noises of his own about cartilage disks, ulnar nerves, tingly fingers and splints, and what's to come if the splint doesn't help doesn't bear thinking about right now.

And it was a good thing that I had that bubbly, too. It made me sharp as a tack this morning when I had to go to the postal sorting office to query why a bundle of someone else's redirected post, not mine, came through my letterbox this morning and I ended up having to give them a lesson in modern family dynamics. Somehow, a redirection order was waved in my face, the one belonging to my partner, not mine, who has lived in this house for around 5 years.

"That's not mine," I said, "That has nothing to do with my post."
"But he's still living at the address you're moving to?"
"Yes."
Confusion all over the woman's face.
"But how come his former address isn't the same as yours?" she stammered.
I held out one forefinger.
"Here's him, right? He lives at his former address with his wife and family, yes?"
"Uh-huh."
"He and wife split up, he moves to his current address, yes?"
"Yes."
I hold up the forefinger of my splinted hand.
"Here's me, right? I'm just living in my own place, minding my own business when BAM! I meet a man. Ok? He lives there, I live here, a few years later we decide to live together."
I move my forefingers together to illustrate my point.
"This is the way the world works," I conclude.
"Ohhh!" she exclaims as the penny finally drops. "I just couldn't figure why on Earth two strangers would be moving to a common address..."

Honestly, I don't know where they breed them.

Lovely John O'Raian, bless him and his atypical efficiency, in the GPO has sorted it all out so it's all right now. And starting right now mollyblog will be neglected for a further few days, or more.