Phew....boy am I glad that's over!
This move has only set in concrete a long held suspicion. That suspicion being that my possessions (that's too many s's surely!!) secretly fornicate and multiply whilst I'm not looking.
When I moved into this place in Walthamstow I had the same amount of stuff PLUS a wardrobe and a set of drawers. Dad thinks the drawers were flatpacked, but after thinking about it I distinctly recall us hefting that bastard set of drawers into the back of the van. The wardrobe was unceremoniously strapped to the roof of the van.
I kept all the cardboard boxes I used in the first move flatpacked under the bed for reuse, and so I know I had the same number of cardboard boxes. The same number of plastic boxes from under the bed, the same slowcooker, CD rack, various bags of crap, bed. The same laundry racks, rolled up carpet and tub chair that I harangue my ever-suffering father into moving for me whenever the whim takes me.
All packed into the same van.
So why this time so tight? I left the set of drawers behind....so that should have freed up a crapload of room!
The one possible variant is the ubiquitous black binliners full of clothes. I didn't think I'd bought more clothes. I don't buy clothes.
I do.....however....steal clothes. From my sister. She has so many clothes that she doesn't even notice. And I only ever stole them from the 'spare' room, where clothes go to die, or be sold on Ebay/at a jumble sale.
However, I like to think I offset my ill-gotten gains with a massive bag of clothes that I recycled. Well, I tried to recycle them, Waltham Forest council claims to recycle clothes. In reality they sat in the recycling bin in a clear binliner outside the house in the rain for about a week..before I gave up and chucked them in the bin.
I tried, I did try.
Anywhoo, I remember last time being so impressed at how neatly everything had packed into the back, how much room (relatively) there seemed to be left, how STRESS FREE it had been (time heals all wounds).
Before my dad turned up at 9am I thought it would be a good idea to bring everything downstairs. I'm ashamed to say that the idea hadn't occurred to me a few days previous...of course my father doesn't want to be traipsing up and down stairs with his gammy knee, fingers, head, shoulders knees and toes knees and toes. I blame the lapse in foresight on the fact that I was desperately attempting to avoid thinking about the fact that I was moving AGAIN!
Nonetheless, the thought did eventually occur and I began to take boxes and bags etc etc downstairs. 17 boxes and 8 binliners later, along with all the other shite that inhabits my room...I was starting to get a bit worried. HOW much? Still, my arguments from above allayed my fears, no drawers, same stuff, no drawers, same stuff.
This time it was a crowbar jobbie, a KY Jelly and shoehorn jobbie! Dad took one look and raised his eyebrows, 'well, the mattress will be going on the top'. And so it began, Dad started loading the van whilst I ran a hoover around my room, trying to chase down all those stray hairs I leave behind wherever I go. Despite my efforts they're guaranteed to be finding long blonde hairs for weeks, it's almost inevitable!
As the van gets more and more full I contemplate nipping down to Lloyds pharmacy for the aforementioned KY jelly. But finally, FINALLY everything seems to be in. Everything except my laptop, coat and fern which I hold in my lap...thereby obscuring one of the only mirrors my dad has left for the purposes of driving safely.
We may have fitted everything in the van...but will we get home alive?
We got home alive, and survived the marvellous pyrotechic-esque belongings-explosion that issued from the van when we dared to open one of the back doors.
I'm almost fully installed now........what a flippin palaver
I blame that kingsize duvet, I moved in with a double.....definitely the kingsize duvet.
What am I going to do with a useless shoehorn and all this KY jelly??! I can read your minds you grotesque individuals....wash your brains out.