I am a whirling dervish of packing. At midnight on Saturday I was lying up in bed, reading the papers, when my thoughts idly turned to my new housing arrangements. With a jolt that got me sitting bolt upright I suddenly realised that I only had three more nights left in the flat. (I’m away a lot over the next fortnight.)
Because I don’t have to be out of my current place until 08 August, I hadn’t really paid much attention to when I would actually move. ( I hopefully get the new keys on 01 August.) And I hadn’t wanted to start packing things up in case I jinxed my new place. But, idiot girl that I am, I had failed to compute that whether or not the new place went ahead, I needed to start packing STAT as I would still need to move out. Duh.
So at five minutes past midnight I started throwing things in bags and cases. I got an hour and a half under my belt before retiring to bed. I kept at it on and off during Sunday and, miraculously, had got it all done bar odds & sods by 1am. Helped by the discovery when I went to put out the recycling last night that the new neighbours had conveniently put out all their packing boxes for the binmen. A stroke of luck as I hadn’t actually ordered any packing materials. Everything else however is in those classy plastic tartan laundry bags from the local corner shop + a series of posh carrier bags. I really hope the removal men don’t baulk at the sight of it all.