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Moving house is one of the most stressful things that you can do and I hadn’t realised how true this was until we did it again. Here’s my lowdown of what makes it so:
Solicitors – namely conveyancers. Do you make paperwork an art form? Want a straight answer – what’s that? Can I push you to the point of wanting to strangle me? Then this is the perfect job for you.
Packing – you realise that having a big loft is in fact in no way useful apart from dumping an insane amount of shit into because you can’t be bothered to take it to the tip. Also,
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you start off labelling each box in a coherent manner before it all falls apart and you just bundle any old crap into boxes, giving yourself a massive headache later on (see unpacking below).
Unpacking – all those random leads you threw away because you thought you’d never need them. Well, surprise, now you fucking do and have to buy them again to get the telly to work. Can you find the hairdryer – nope, please enjoy a frizzy nightmare for the foreseeable. And where are all my shoes? Your husband’s wedding ring – he can’t remember where he put it
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for ’safe keeping’. He’ll also forget that he’s already unpacked one TV, only finding the empty box, which leads him to deduce his father must have stolen it in the move, only to be told by said father exactly what he has done with it when he saw him unpack it. Now he thinks he has amnesia and considers creating elaborate tattoos all over his body reminding himself what he’s done, like Guy Pearce in Momento.
Separation anxiety – building on the above. Where did I put the bank card readers? And my MacBook? And my handbag? OMG my life is
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over.
Buying things for the new house – go to John Lewis, accidentally spend £25 on a drainer and have the life sucked out of you by staff with the enthusiasm of a wilted lettuce.
A strange attachment to things you are never going to use but can’t throw away for sentimental reasons – my nan’s collection of old teaspoons, a plaster cast of my teeth before I had a brace, a load of old shells that I can’t remember if they came from my trip to Australia in 1999 or the local beach so better keep them just in case.
No internet for three weeks –
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want a smooth transition. Nope BT are bastards. Even though they are not your supplier they can still affect your services because they are omnipresent in anything to do with telephone lines.
Fretting about the cat – when can we let him out, is he going to find his way back, will he get stuck up a tree, is he going to get run over? Get him a cat flap so he can come and go at least. When you are spending £100 on one that can read his chip only, it is always nice to receive the shop assistant’s accompanying words, ’sorry about the dust…’ ’Oh, ok
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– and does it come with batteries?’ ’Yes it does,’ I hear you say. No…no it doesn’t. And I don’t know where we packed them…At least we got out without adopting the degus that had a forlorn message outside their cage saying they had been in the shop for some time without being re-homed. Probably gathering dust out the back with the cat flaps.
Getting your small child back into a bedtime routine when his room isn’t yet ready and you’ve discovered the entire wall needs to come down before it is – hahahahahaha. But at least we love our new
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house!!
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Abbe Bates - 6 Mar 17
Moving house is one of the most stressful things that you can do and I hadn’t realised how true this was until we did it again. Here’s my lowdown of what makes it so:
Solicitors – namely conveyancers. Do you make paperwork an art form? Want a straight answer – what’s that? Can I push you to the point of wanting to strangle me? Then this is the perfect job for you.
Packing – you realise that having a big loft is in fact in no way useful apart from dumping an insane amount of shit into because you can’t be bothered to take it to the tip. Also, you start off labelling each box in a coherent manner before it all falls apart and you just bundle any old crap into boxes, giving yourself a massive headache later on (see unpacking below).
Unpacking – all those random leads you threw away because you thought you’d never need them. Well, surprise, now you fucking do and have to buy them again to get the telly to work. Can you find the hairdryer – nope, please enjoy a frizzy nightmare for the foreseeable. And where are all my shoes? Your husband’s wedding ring – he can’t remember where he put it for ‘safe keeping’. He’ll also forget that he’s already unpacked one TV, only finding the empty box, which leads him to deduce his father must have stolen it in the move, only to be told by said father exactly what he has done with it when he saw him unpack it. Now he thinks he has amnesia and considers creating elaborate tattoos all over his body reminding himself what he’s done, like Guy Pearce in Momento.
Separation anxiety – building on the above. Where did I put the bank card readers? And my MacBook? And my handbag? OMG my life is over.
Buying things for the new house – go to John Lewis, accidentally spend £25 on a drainer and have the life sucked out of you by staff with the enthusiasm of a wilted lettuce.
A strange attachment to things you are never going to use but can’t throw away for sentimental reasons – my nan’s collection of old teaspoons, a plaster cast of my teeth before I had a brace, a load of old shells that I can’t remember if they came from my trip to Australia in 1999 or the local beach so better keep them just in case.
No internet for three weeks – want a smooth transition. Nope BT are bastards. Even though they are not your supplier they can still affect your services because they are omnipresent in anything to do with telephone lines.
Fretting about the cat – when can we let him out, is he going to find his way back, will he get stuck up a tree, is he going to get run over? Get him a cat flap so he can come and go at least. When you are spending £100 on one that can read his chip only, it is always nice to receive the shop assistant’s accompanying words, ‘sorry about the dust…’ ‘Oh, ok – and does it come with batteries?’ ‘Yes it does,’ I hear you say. No…no it doesn’t. And I don’t know where we packed them…At least we got out without adopting the degus that had a forlorn message outside their cage saying they had been in the shop for some time without being re-homed. Probably gathering dust out the back with the cat flaps.
Getting your small child back into a bedtime routine when his room isn’t yet ready and you’ve discovered the entire wall needs to come down before it is – hahahahahaha. But at least we love our new house!!
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I'm an editor and writer. Blogging about the elations and frustrations of life, from parenting to pregnancy loss with some travel in between. Consultant Editor at Landor Travel Publications, including GTO magazine and regional group travel guides.
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