Loads of rubbish

Our lives have been packed into bags and I've spent hours sifting sentimentally through and abandoning the artefacts of my childhood and adolescence. We've now moved house and I am very sad. Sitting here on the last chair in Coastguard Cottages, it feels like I'm paying a visit to the grave of someone who I appreciate much more now they're dead. And I can't have them back. And I can't move back in here. We have been uprooted and decamped to our new home on the High Street in Lymington. It's in a impressive Georgian building with high ceilings and decent access to the shops. But, I'm not happy. I am aware that I am probably coming across as a miserable sod in this posting, but I need some outlet for my grumps. I had two hours' sleep last night because we are several doors down from a late bar and because various boy racers decided they wanted to drive up and down the road like maniacs.
A new paragraph is now called for as I've been turfed off the chair and sit typing this against the cold stone wall.
This morning the car got clamped. There are reasons this happened and there are reasons too why the clamp is still on there despite a visit by the clamp man. These are not reasons I understand or appreciate.
I am going to London this afternoon and hope whilst there I will get an emotional boost and feel like I actually want to come back to this town. At the moment I don't and the only reason I will is Azara. I am going to do some shifts at the World Service for two days and am going to be glad of the mental stimulation. By staying at Hilary's tonight, I might get some sleep, I suppose.
Azara can tell things are not quite right and, in addition to the teething, she has been quite grumpy for a few days.
It's funny how sadness limits the adjectives I use, stifling my desire to write.