Posted in moving

No place of abode

Well, it’s been a corker of a day, as you can imagine.

The packing was finished in a flurry of activity this morning. I rushed around finishing off chores such as ‘scrub the bikes and wipe down with Jeyes Fluid’

and ‘wash the dishes so they can go in a box’ and ‘hoover the dust of four years from the back of the sofa so it can be wrapped,’ while N tackled the task of selling the car without the V5C document (which had been packed and taken away yesterday). We also had to double-check that our suitcases would be under the weight limit, so that we could add extra things to the boxes if we were over.

Cue much stress and flapping about, trying to do at least three thing at once.

And then, all at once, it was done.

The lorry was loaded, the house was empty, the paperwork was signed. Everything that made our house a home was gone. Carefully wrapped and packed into boxes by Ed, Mark and Steve, all of whom must have a saint-like patience to deal on a daily basis with people who are moving.

We did a bit of half-heated cleaning, ran the hoover round, swept the wooden floors, and wiped the ickiest of cupboards.

They is something very disconcerting about being in your house when it’s no longer your home. Things seem familiar, yet wrong. The rooms echo. The comfortable seems cavernous and unfriendly.

So we did what any reasonable people would do. We decided to go out for lunch.

We locked the door, posted the keys through letterbox, climbed into a very large taxi and set off.

I broke down and was offered varying degrees of comfort from my children (“There, there Mummy” from one; “Your nose and cheeks get very red when you cry” from the other).

We stopped for a quick detour to the office (N), then walked across the park towing 8 wheeled suitcases later, heading to the kids’ choice of lunch destination: Nandos.

While we were lunching, the solicitor called to confirm the we had completed. It was official. Or lovely house now belongs to someone else. I hope they love it as much as we do.

We decided to head to the coach station early and see if we could get an earlier coach, so set of with our many, massive suitcases again, trundling across Southampton.

Luckily, we managed to switch into the next coach, for a fee, of course. It was a delightful1 experience – over 2.5 hours in a coach that smelled strongly of wee. Along the way, I checked our bank balance and found the completion funds had gone in. We may have no home, but there’s more money in that account than we’ve ever had before! I took a screen shot of it2. 🙂

And that’s about all there is to tell today. Dinner, suitcase sorting and an early night is all else there is to it.

Tomorrow we’re leaving, on a jet plane. Don’t know when will be back again. 

Hopefully I’ve successfully planted that little gem as an earworm for you all, because I’d hate to be suffering this one on my own.


1 God, I hope you can tell how sarcastic I’m being here. It was rank

Note to self: don’t spend all that money on shoes. Or bling. Or shoes and bling.

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Author:

Kiwi, just returned home after 17 years in the UK. Feminist, wife, mother to 2 daughters. Strongly opinionated and very vocal. I'm wicked through and through.

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