…in this temporary flat that’s been home for the past seventeen months or so. And now that we’re breaking it up and packing all our worldly goods back into cardboard boxes, I’m feeling quite nostalgic. There’s nothing quite as final as packing to move house. As soon as you start you realise the old place will never be the same again; home has gone, and the ‘home feeling’ has gone with it.
It’s a time to be nice to yourself, give yourself the odd pat on the back, and tell yourself that the new place, empty and sterile as it looks now, will be home in no time at all. Even though you have no idea how to work the oven. Or the dishwasher. And the kitchen cupboards are full of Son 1’s collection of Warhammer miniatures, to ‘keep them safe’ until his cabinets arrive on Friday.
We don’t need to feel sad about moving, after all, the new flat is just 200m north of the old one… which is about 500m west of the house we moved from in 2013 – we don’t do big moves in this family. My furthest move was when I came from Scotland to Switzerland, many moons ago. Back then I had a suitcase and a sports bag containing all my worldly goods. How times change.
I’m off back to my packing cases now, but I’ll leave you with a collection of really amazing Scotland pics – I’ve been tweeting these for weeks. The text’s a bit corny but the photos make up for it: http://www.buzzfeed.com/hilarywardle/scotland-is-the-worst-aplm#.gePnmXBdm
And as always now, my trees, the view from the new flat, soon-to-be-home… (There was a bike race in the woods this weekend, hence the red/white tape.) See you after the move!