It was never the intention to write a blog on such mundane matters as house moving. But a blog being a personal diary in the main, if house moving is the centre of our universe at the moment, so be it.
Tonight is our last night we will spend at number forty seven. For the last five days we have moved possessions, unpacked possessions, sold possessions, given away possessions. Our limbs ache, old and unused to manual work. We are alternately tired, dispirited, excited, optimistic, apprehensive. My next moved will be in a pine box. No more moving, it is high on the stress list. Marriage, divorce, the birth of a child, a death in the family, moving house is up there somewhere.
We are no where near finished. Our new house is already full. At least two trips to the auction beckons. This house is full still of abandoned goods that will need to be dealt with if we are to have any chance of selling our house by auction. The loft is still full as is the garage. I look out of the window as a young fox strolls gingerly across my garage roof and greenhouse. My garden, so lovingly cared for until recently is now their domain. I feel like King Canute fighting the inevitable. Everyone is full of gloom at our prospects of surviving without complete mental breakdowns. Sod them all, I have survived sixty eight rough but happy years, (Who sang 'I will survive'?) Watch this space.
Tonight is our last night we will spend at number forty seven. For the last five days we have moved possessions, unpacked possessions, sold possessions, given away possessions. Our limbs ache, old and unused to manual work. We are alternately tired, dispirited, excited, optimistic, apprehensive. My next moved will be in a pine box. No more moving, it is high on the stress list. Marriage, divorce, the birth of a child, a death in the family, moving house is up there somewhere.
We are no where near finished. Our new house is already full. At least two trips to the auction beckons. This house is full still of abandoned goods that will need to be dealt with if we are to have any chance of selling our house by auction. The loft is still full as is the garage. I look out of the window as a young fox strolls gingerly across my garage roof and greenhouse. My garden, so lovingly cared for until recently is now their domain. I feel like King Canute fighting the inevitable. Everyone is full of gloom at our prospects of surviving without complete mental breakdowns. Sod them all, I have survived sixty eight rough but happy years, (Who sang 'I will survive'?) Watch this space.
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