Moving meanderings.

Happy New Year, everyone! Hopefully normal service here will resume next week but for now I am drowning in moving boxes and bubble wrap and brown packing tape.

Suffice to say, the packing is *not* going well. Himself started work in London on Tuesday so I was home alone for the week, which I thought would mean I'd get loads done.

It mostly just meant I couldn't watch any of my usual crime/murder/vampire telly shows because I'd be awake all night in a cold sweat waiting to hear a step on the stairs or the feel of a blade on my throat or a sudden chill in my bedroom.

So far, I've half-packed one box with what I'm calling "decorative accents" (so, er, candleholders and vases, then.)


Subscibe to the blog or Puppeh gets it.

I did also manage to fill two boxes with clothes and shoes and stuff for the charity shop, which was actually a real achievement for a world-class ditherer. Bloody lucky that my hits-once-every-five-years purging humour coincided with having to pack up almost every stick and stitch that we own.

Mam is in a very bad way about The Impending Move; not even trotting out the line that she'll have free B&B half an hour from Oxford Street could cheer her up today. 

Telling her it's a good job that it's only me who's moving and not my sister Lisa because she'd have to be hospitalised for that seemed to remind her to be thankful for small mercies, though!