Moving day came and went on Tuesday without a serious hitch, though naturally there was a succession of relatively minor irritations.
The four-hour wait for our buyers’ money to start the chain off (after we’d left our old house) didn’t help our nerves. Then, once we had the keys to our new house, the side gate that wouldn’t open and the turn in the stairs that kept some of the furniture downstairs were awkward.
But such things have been quickly forgotten as I attacked the boxes at a rate of knots to ensure my week off work was best used. (I shall not be opening boxes at 6am next week, that’s for sure.)
Consequently I’m the most tired I’ve been in three years and feel slightly numb about the change.
The transformation of this place from a house to a home seems only halfway complete, though having my ‘stuff’, primarily books and CDs, around me helps. It’s our first move in eight years, so that probably accounts for the most of the way I’m feeling.
Nevertheless, we only actually shifted one road across from where we used to live, so more is familiar than not and it’s been easy for our local friends to drop in, bringing with them homemade apple crumble and chocolate brownies or, more commonly, flowers – all red (is this a moving thing?).
So I expect we’ll soon be more than halfway home.