Moving [out] day

Drizzle and tea.  And a chance to take Ula to the chaos of Church Mice in the morning.

I found moving out to be unaccountably stressful, and I didn’t really have to do much.  The burly removal team rolled up on the dot of 9 - Jon, Julian and the correctly named Butch - and even whilst being shown around the house managed to come down the stairs carrying boxes to load on the lorry.  They seemed to work slowly, but the volume of boxes in the house went down and the volume of boxes on the lorry went up in a simple monotonic process.  Yet I fretted.  Worried about whether it would all fit, worried about how much would break, worried about whether they’d finish in time.

Islay despatched me to Church Mice to spend two hours with carousing toddlers and friendly mums, which helped calm me.  Then we left them to it, spending the afternoon at Granny’s whilst the guys slowly stacked it into lorries.

We had more stuff than anyone predicted.  The abiding image of the day was watching the three of them pushing hard on the back of a truck to get the door to close and hold back the mattresses that threatened to topple over them.  And they had to send for another van to get the stuff from the storage unit.

But then, an empty and quiet house and a night in limbo.