Photos of the new flat are to follow (eventually). The place does still look like we've just moved in, but as Ian told his dad on the phone this morning, weekend by weekend we're getting there.
The flat itself is lovely, small but comfy. It's a little bit cold, nothing smushing up under a blankie can't deal with (come winter my positive outlook may change). The park across the road is great for runs. That's right! Me, I run now! A little.
The only weird thing is that one of the neighbours, the ones directly above us, make strange noises at 11pm every weeknight. This is usually when I'm reading in bed, trying to keep my eyes from dropping so I can find out if Anna Karenina does decide to leave her husband... and then the noise...
It's a creak, but a weird creak, a creak in two parts, if you will. And it's rhythmic. And it goes on for a bit.
Now I know what you're thinking it is, and I was too. The first time I noticed it, Ian was already asleep, and so the next day I told him about the creaky bed upstairs. He looked sceptical.
"But there's no vocal sounds. And the creaking stays at a constant rhythm, never slows or goes faster," I told him.
"It doesn't sound like it's that then."
"Well, that, or the guy upstairs has a rowing machine."
When I post the photos of how small our flat is, you'll know that it just can't be a rowing machine. It's not a mechanical bike. And it goes on for at least 40 minutes each evening, at a constant pace. Every time I think about it, my mind comes up with a possible cause, but none of them fit the puzzle perfectly. Washing machine (every night?), exercise bike (sound doesn't fit), treadmill (it's a creak, not a pounding).
Mystery.
This is a 
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