It looks as if I'm entering my last days as a publican for a while. Some papers (though not all) were signed today. The process, as they say in the newspeak, is in place.
I should feel happier I guess, but around every bureaucratic corner seems to loom another red tape mountain.
The week has been rough. When you go to sell a place you've invested a fair bit of your life into, you expect to go through a bit of soul searching yourself, but what you aren't warned about is the effect it has on your staff. I've seen one go through a two week bender, another deliberately try and torpedo the sale and another hand in his notice effective as of my last day. Touching as it is, the little darlings' emotional pyrotechnics haven't made things too easy at rock central. My tenuous grip on sanity took a fair beating (especially during the booker's fairly naked attempt to scare the buyer off) and tonight I'm sitting at home sweating like a rapist and unable to face an evening with the fair punters of Ballarat town.