Moving house…

No we are not going to be moving house, but someone near and dear to us is. Moving is such a nightmare – not the getting the new place which is so exciting, nor saying goodbye to the old place which is sometimes left with regret, sometimes with relief, sometimes with a mix of the two, but the actual physical packing up of stuff is the nightmare, and moving it out and then in, and then unpacking!

If you are moving somewhere bigger it is not such a problem… if you are moving somewhere smaller it definitely is! But whether it’s bigger, or smaller, the sorting out of everything, throwing away/giving away/recycling/charity shop donating/tip taking to… sorting stuff out, not getting side-tracked by reminiscing/reading a book you forgot you had/looking at old photos/making yet another cup of tea, trying to pack cleverly (I have to admit, brag even, that I am amazing at packing stuff, whether it’s shopping or luggage for holiday, or the boot of the car, I am brilliant!) and not running out of energy, enthusiasm, patience…

I’ve moved many times in my life – the first I can’t really remember, when I was fourteen and the family moved from a two bedroom flat into a three bedroom semi-detached house. The garden was a jungle and I remember that, I remember there was a lot of renovation needing doing, and that my sister and I had our own rooms for the first time. I can barely remember it, to be honest, I know I had wallpaper with Egyptian pictures on it and hieroglyphs… but the move, no, I can’t remember!

Two years later we were on the move again – and this time from the east of the country to the west. I really don’t remember it at all, because I wasn’t there; I was on holiday with cousins for the whole of the summer holiday – maybe to get me out of the way! So when I came home, I came home to a new place, a bungalow on a hill…

The next move for me, though not for the family, was to Manchester to do my degree. I was there for three years, and moved from flat to flat many times – five times I think! of course, then I was mostly moving clothes and bedding, and a few bits and pieces of cookery equipment, books and LPs. Then there were a series of moves round Manchester, mostly in rented accommodation, but then into a flat I was buying and then a move out of the city to Oldham. I only really remember one of those moves… we were moving out of a house, literally round the corner to another house; we’d hired a van to move all the furniture which I was driving… load the van, drive round the corner, unload the van, drive back, reload etc. etc… boy was it exhausting!!

Eventually after another move in Oldham, we moved down here to Somerset… This time it wasn’t me on my own, but with a husband and two small children! I’ve written about it elsewhere, and i do remember it – the moving that is, I don’t remember the packing up or the unpacking! Maybe it is just as well!

So to our dear house-movers, good luck next week, we will do all we can to help!!



  1. David Lewis

    I read somewhere that the fear of moving ranks higher than the fear of death. illness and poverty.The older you get the fear increases exponentially. I’m staying put. Close to bars, grocery stores and beer store and good neighbors.

    Liked by 1 person

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