We’d known it was coming for a year, but moving out of Meadow Towers was a strange experience. A friend of mine likened it to a divorce, and in many respects it was (a happy “we’re still friends” divorce though, not an acrimonious “if I ever see you again I’m going to rip your head off and feed it to the dog” divorce). It took time to disentangle our possessions (Moose – “Is this casserole dish yours or mine?”, Cas – “I own a casserole dish?”). We took bags and bags of things to the local charity shops. We spent days packing boxes and moving. And at the end was a very clean, very empty flat.
And so we’ve moved on. What an adventure a new home is! There’s working out how you get hot water in your shower. Trying to guess what’s the strange tapping noise in the bathroom. Pondering the great mystery of why you can only get the ITV and Channel 4 channels on Freeview on a Friday night. Meeting the neighbours. Trying to explain to said neighbours that the reason the recycling hasn’t been collected for 3 weeks is because they keep putting plastic bags in it. I could go on and on.
I’m off to prepare for a royal visit. The grand-parental unit is coming for an inspection of the new place, got to make sure it’s looking spic and span or she’ll disown me.