Moving times

Well, it’s finally happening. We have bought a new house and we are going to move into it over half term.

Naturally, it’s not as easy as that. It’s taken many lawyers, negotiations, broken nights and hoo-has to get this far. And we’re not even there yet.

Part of me feels relieved that we’ve got things sorted out. Part of me is very sad to be leaving Divorce Towers, where I could (under other circumstances) have stayed for ever. And part of me is very excited. The new house is going to be gorgeous and we’ll all be very happy there.

But alas, no part of me wants to stuff things into boxes.

This has got to an almost pathological stage. Normally, I am the most organised woman in Dulwich, and waaaaay ahead even of myself on the organisational front. This time, two separate friends have shouted at me about not getting removal quotes, not doing some sort of clear-out of the crap we have accumulated in our four years back in the UK, and not making the slightest push to ring a removals company. I even shudder slightly when overtaking Pickfords vans these days.

But now I’ve been a good girl and rung the movers. A date is set. There’s a threat of boxes in the air. And I bought a roll of tape from B and Q yesterday. Yep, it’s all happening. And soon. Yay!

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