Following our decision, E and I signed terms with an estate agent, booked in a photographer and opened a file with a conveyancer. We left our flat in a hurry so we decided to return to prepare it for sale and bid it fare well.
With E as a temporary driver on my dad’s oversized car, we drove down and set to work removing all the clutter essential for living (particularly with a toddler) but unsightly to prospective buyers. E filled two suitcases with belongings as I pulled up weeds and removed an old planter full of dead flowers from our patio. It was a task that was literally years overdue.
I cannot unsee what I found on the underside of long-neglected bags of compost.
E ordered what may well be our last Yard Sale Pizza and I slept poorly, my mind racing with remaining jobs to do. By late morning, we’d done all we could, leaving a gooseneck kettle and a toaster on the kitchen worktop.
I’ve been helping apply for probate and, my goodness, for the sake of your surviving relatives: please maintain a single, up-to-date list of all your assets. Every time we think we might be getting somewhere, a slip of undated paper is found that throws everything into doubt.
During the latest attempt, I received a notification on my phone that my beverage had reached my “perfect temperature”. That’s right, I indulged in an Ember mug.
This was mostly due to Noah Kalina and Adam Lisagor’s review. As you can tell from James Hoffmann’s comments, this is obviously an absurd luxury item (let’s not even mention Rishi Sunak’s unfortunate photo op):
I’ll be honest, owning one of these will mean that your colleagues, friends and loved ones will mock you mercilessly for owning an incredibly expensive smart mug that holds coffee at a particular temperature of your choosing.
You should absolutely tease anyone who spent that much money on one of these… but they’re also having a kind of a good time with it.
By Paul Mucur, on