If you follow me on social media you may or may not know that we are moving house. Not just moving – moving to a house we have bought! Our very own house! That I can paint badly and then get a proper decorator to fix and where I can hang wonky pictures that will fall off the wall in the middle of the night causing the entire household to inadvertently shit themselves in new-house-is-haunted terror. Excited!!
Anyway, as everyone knows, moving involves that horror of horrors – packing (unless you are a spy type doing a moonlight flit. I’ve always wanted to use that phrase, sorry) God I hate packing. Hate it with a passion. When I left home for uni my life consisted of a suitcase and two cardboard boxes. By my second move in London, I was humping suitcases back and forth up and down the Piccadilly line for an entire weekend almost giving myself 17 hernias. I’m pretty sure the gallant gentleman who helped me down the steps at Parson’s Green wasn’t expecting the bags to be full of my books. Sorry, kind man, for any torn muscles.
By the time I moved in with now-Husband, I needed a man with a van. I was also pregnant at the time (yeah yeah I know) and so I didn’t have to do any lifting or packing that time, hurrah! Husband rocked up with one bag and a box. How did I need a van and he could literally carry all his worldly possessions? Very unfair.
The move from that house to this wasn’t too bad, as it was tiny. I did all the packing and we hired a removals guy to help us actually move. The only furniture we owned was the sofa and Rian’s bedroom stuff. Now however, oh man. We have beds and shit. An extra sofa has appeared, our house has been overtaken by plastic tat, and I have an addiction to large kitchen appliances that I use twice then stuff in a cupboard.
So this move has required two trucks and a partial breakdown over the amount of packing, which naturally I did (as well as working, cooking, pretending to clean, child and puppy wrangling…!) So while I plan on NEVER moving EVER again (fingers crossed) I have come up with a guide to moving house. It’s pretty easy.
- Get a skip and throw AT LEAST half your stuff in it. You don’t need it.
- Pay someone to come and pack the other half up.
- Bribe your friends to come help you unpack on the other end
So there you go – how I survived moving house. Friends and gin. Come to think of it, that’s pretty much how I survive life.