So, in the months since GS and I were on our wonderful road trip to Puglia we have spent the dog days of the summer in emotional and physical awfulness. My beloved father died, and I could not write in those months.
At the same time we made the sudden decision to move house as part of our long term plan to move to Italy. GS wanted removal men but given the amount of sorting I thought we – that is GS, me and my little van- could do it. If only we had known.
Our tenant unexpectedly gave notice so we decided to move back to the coast. However the three storey town house was topped by eved rooms. After three days of hauling furniture up three floors I announced that we couldn’t fit in a house without vertical walls and we dragged the whole lot back down the flights of stairs.
GS muttered a lot as he had been persuaded to the delights of our new abode, specifically the yacht club, rowing club and, for me lawn tennis just up the road. But it had been for me incredibly sad, moving back to the town where I grew up, but to which my parents will never return.
We then had to move to another house meaning that we had to file box after box into storage facilities. GS preferred to rent our current home out rather than sell, which meant that whilst we were packing up the house underwent a renovation: top to bottom, inside and out redecoration, smashing down of bandstand thing in the garden, ripping up the balcony outside the bedroom door.
Birthdays came and went barely noted in the melee. We went to bed with limbs twitching from hauling things around, ready for sleepless nights worrying whether we would finish in time. We awoke to power tools and screws around the bed, various deliveries of heavy builders stuff to face another day of morning til evening packing, hauling, stacking, and repeat. We ate salmon pokes from Sainsbury’s, and curry. I ate an entire Victoria plum tree. We got covered in bruises, and put on trackies and Tshirts that were sodden then stiff with sweat within hours.
A low point was when the wireless thermostat was accidentally packed into storage leading to days of no hot water. Selling paraphanalia was also galling, beds going for a couple of pounds. Then there was the pool table collected by a skinny postman in a postman’s van and an old chap who didn’t lift a finger as GS, Postman Pat and I hauled and dragged the damned thing around the house. Then, whilst we wiped sweat from our faces and panted, he told us of how he had slipped a disc decades ago, was told he would never walk again, but had leapt from him hospital bed and walked again due only to strength of character and will power. He had never been in doubt that ‘he’ would be able to move the pool table
Tiger the cat could not be put into storage for the six weeks between leaving our house to make way for tenants urgently needing to move, and our next home being vacant. Luckily another lovely tenant was open to bribery so Tiger was taken protesting to her house.
GS had an interesting journey. BB and I yakked a bit when arrived at my parents empty house with a phooey cat; Tiger having conducted his own ‘IRA dirty protest’ during transit. After sluicing out the cat carrier, and taking his life in his hands wiping Tiger’s fur with floor wipes, we dropped him off, that is to say, Tiger hid behind the sofa and swore at us. I am happy to report that he has been bribed with Dreamies, and his host also now has a young black kitten running around and it is loves young dream.
Meanwhile GS went slowly mad as if he had been touched by the sun in a vineyard. He decided the wonky stone larger than life-size statute of Pan could not be left in the garden but had to be dragged to storage despite weighing the same as a small planet. Then, on the last day, with the sun beating down, he said he couldn’t leave without the shed being cleared. Reasoning was futile. BB and I wrapped ourselves up like a pair of beduin camel herders and emptied the shed in what can only be described as a Pompeiian cloud of dust.
Finally, finally we left our home of 15 years. Me with an element of relief as I was waiting for the moment when GS decided that the Thames was running too high and we’d have to empty it and put it in storage.
Have you been through the chaos of moving house recently? How was it for you? I would love to hear your comments
