On Friday night I moved house. All night. I cannot believe how long it took me! I live in a house with some friends and so really, only have one room to call my own, and yet it took ALL NIGHT to move my belongings from one house to another one, just round the corner.
I feel completely exhausted by the experience. I now need a month’s holiday just to recover from one day’s worth of moving. And in some ways I think the unpacking (which I’m in the midst of at the moment) is just as bad as the packing. ‘Should I move that there, no because then that won’t fit, but what about that.’ Argh!
Can moving house ever be stress free? Maybe if you jetted off somewhere sunny and came back to find your home completely relocated into another building, all of your things perfectly arranged with nothing broken, no back ache and no boxes.
Not that any of this matters to me now because I’m never moving again. Even if my landlord decides to sell up, I’ll just have to be added on the list of house features. ‘Three bedrooms, 1 bathroom, Charlotte, Lounge, Garden.’ I’m doing them a favour really. I wonder when’s the best time to mention it…