Moose Testicles

I drove a Transit for the first time today.
We picked it up from the hire firm at the railway station this morning. The young man behind the desk had some late-issue Siouxsie and the Banshees going on the stereo at 8.05am which I thought was bold.
We filled the big white van with furniture and assorted gubbins, then headed up the M5 to move Older Daughter into her new abode, a cottage off the Whiteladies Road in Bristol.
The neighbours seemed very nice. They were off to a funeral so we made sure we had shifted the furniture and moved the Transit well before the big black cars came for them. Later in the afternoon they had what sounded like a very jolly wake in a marquee on their lawn, and people were pouring in to join them.
We went to Ikea and bought a wardrobe, then realised we didn't have a hammer to bang in the little panel pins that hold the back on. We debated going round to the neighbours to see if we could borrow one, but thought it might be inappropriate, what with them being in the middle of a wake and all that.
We banged the nails in with a rock we found on the wall instead. It did the job, but split into many pieces in the process, releasing a curious marsh gas aroma which may have come from the primordial swamps when the rock was formed in prehistoric Clifton.
At Ikea we ate lunch.
Older Daughter had the meatballs despite me suggesting they were actually moose testicles in a creamy sauce. Veggie options were limited but Mrs H had the soup and I had some pasta which tasted as if it may also have been formed in prehistoric Clifton.