DONG!

Today I have returned to my office the WfH ancillary screen, headset and all related cables to my current workplace.
I received a call from the private rental detectives to inform me that the telephone number I had provided for my future employer was cutting off automatically, so I contacted the recruitment agent to let her know that my relocation depended upon a conversation between the two and could a valid number please be supplied.
I received an instruction from lovely boss's line manager to produce a series of drawings as a matter of extreme urgency to illustrate, beyond any vestige of doubt, that all hope of salvation or a bright future for that entire side of the business is utterly doomed.
I received an email from the removals company to let me know that my packaging could not be delivered until Monday at the earliest.
I booked click-and-collect alternative packaging from my local branch of Argos and once that was confirmed, replied to the removals company that I had done so, would not be requiring a delivery of packing boxes from them and could they please, kindly, remove that item from my invoice.
The recruitment agent got back to me with valid contact numbers which I passed on to the private rental detectives. During that conversation the private rental detectives informed me that the past six months of payslips from my current employer were an irrelevance since it was my future employment they were interested in, resulting in me having a momentary attitude meltdown with “Jade”.
The removals company confirmed that they were fine with removing the packaging materials from the invoice, and also that I could indeed ride in the van with the team and all my stuff from Chatham to Henley, and yes also back again but that they would kick me out of the van somewhere in London because they would be going home for the weekend. Fine! I can easily catch a train back from London to Chatham to camp in a empty flat while I clean it ready for hand-over.
I received an email from my divorce lawyer to let me know that all buttons had been pressed and that everything was now dependent upon the court, which has something of a backlog.
I worked late to complete the doomsday drawings for lovely boss's line manager and then lovely boss gave me a lift to Argos so I could collect my relocation packaging, and then he dropped me and my purchases off at my flat.
On the drive from work to Argos I got a call from my current letting agent to check she could come round to inspect my flat on 18th. I was surprised, and I told her that I had a vacating appointment booked for 20th. Nobody had told her and she burst into tears. “But I LOVE visiting your flat!” I apologised. I let her know that I had replaced the smoke alarm I had wheeched into the river a great many months ago when it was cheeping every 3 hours throughout the night and that yes, I promise to send her a photo of Veera in her FUCK OFF sash.
I had a conversation with lovely boss about the hopelessness of his prospects, and I advised him to polish up his CV and get it out there. He seems hell-bent on going down with the sinking ship, making sure that all other passengers and crew are safely on lifeboats before he closes the lid on the piano. Bless him!
Home with boxes and I began a series of divorce settlement payments to former spouse's lawyer.
Payment, Box, Payment, Box etc. etc. throughout the evening so that neither the bank nor my spine was overwhelmed by the monstrosity of it all. I even weighed the small-but heavy boxes of books and wrote the weight on the lid!
To the best of my knowledge I have now completed all my divorce settlement obligations and I've packed up enough paraphernalia to enable the dismantling of dismantlable furniture tomorrow.
I've opened a bottle of something to celebrate.