At the moment we're between two houses. Well, actually we're in both. We've taken possession of the new one and are slowly moving carloads of stuff up the hill to Crystal Palace. This was supposed to make the final move (later this month) less painless, but it's debatable whether in fact it just prolongs the agony.
I have learned a few things:
1. Driving along the speed bump-dotted roads of Southeast London with a fully laden car is easier said than done.
2. However much stuff you think you have packed up, there is ALWAYS more.
3. Unpacking is a lot more fun than packing.
4. Taking half your kitchen equipment to the new house is only a good idea if you can remember what is where.
5, Children have been kept happy by being allowed to bring another box of Lego every time we make the trip. That, and the fact that there are blackberries in the new garden.
It's all a bit fraught, but one thing I am really pleased about is this: every time I open the door of the new house and walk in, it feels good. It's light, it's airy and it feels a lot more like home than our rented house ever did, even after a year. That's got to be a good sign, right?