The Moving Chronicles...

This has been a mad and exhausting week. But we're in our new home and have unpacked enough boxes that we are beginning to see light at the end of the tunnel. (I'm ignoring all boxes marked "books" until we have some new bookshelves!)

We moved in on Tuesday. The lovely men arrived with their huge vehicle at about 11 o'clock and starting shifting furniture, boxes and stuff - I am already regretting not being much more ruthless about getting rid of stuff. They worked like Trojans, bless them (it was nearly 5 when they finished), but it's now apparent that they (or could that be we?) didn't know our left from our right. All my office boxes are in the best beloved's studio, and all his stuff is in my scribbling room.

And we discovered, the hard way, that the door to his room has a dodgy catch. "Shut the door," he said, "I want to see what it looks like." Like the dumb idiot I am, I shut the door. And then we couldn't open it. There we were, on the third floor, without a phone, or a screwdriver, or even a knife, with a heavy firedoor between us and freedom. We looked at the boxes. Did I mention that the guys had put all mine in the best beloved's room? Books, books, books. The BB looked hopefully out of the window, hoping to spot a neighbour to come and rescue us. (They'd already been round to introduce themselves and brought cards to welcome us.)

I ripped open boxes hoping to the find the one with the pen pot that I was sure had a screwdriver in it. Books, books, books, books, books and then, last box, hurrah! the pen pot. But no screwdriver. Pens, pencils, erasers, markers, an emery board (essential kit in every office) and then, lo, in the bottom of the box I found a small pair of scissors that had fallen out of the pot. The blade was deployed and in a bound we were free. But I'm not going anywhere without my phone and a screwdriver in the foreseeable future.

Six days in and we now have a working washing machine (I haven't found the iron yet - and I'm not looking v. hard, although the ironing board keeps attacking me with lethal intent), a dishwasher and a fridge/freezer. Cold milk. Bliss.

We've found the local pub, The Black Horse, which does great grub, a Tesco Express - both within walking distance - and we have a shopping park a mile and a half up the road where we have spent vast quantities of money on white goods (actually they're black, but who's arguing) and DIY essentials, like bathroom mirrors. I left everything - these people took everything. Except the cooker. I really wish they had taken that. Today is buying a new cooker day, so that I can cook and put the new dishwasher to good use.

We also have to move a tall, glass fronted cabinet. We had two places where we could have put it. We chose the wrong one.

We can now see the carpet, have only one box left in the kitchen and some time next week I might even begin to think about my office. No point in unpacking the computer until I have a desk. Any hints of favourites would be welcome. I don't want one of those complicated computer desks, but I do like a keyboard shelf - a table is a little high for me.

Oh, and these gorgeous flowers arrived yesterday from the lovely Kate Hardy. When I see her in September she's going to get a really big hug!

Oh, and my Harlequin Romance, The Last Woman He'd Ever Date was published retail in the US this week. One of my readers had to remind me about that on Twitter!

THE MOVING CHRONICLES IV

See Liz. See Liz smiling…

Today contracts were exchanged with our buyers. Our house is officially sold and we’ll be moving in a little over a month.

Now it’s all about contacting the utilities and insurance companies. Changing addresses on driving licenses – which will mean a photograph for me, since I haven’t got one of the newer photo licences. Letting the removal firm know what’s happening. Arranging broadband.

There is an awful lot to do. It will require a list, but one of those really satisfying ones where you can tick things off. Even as I write this, I’m thinking of new things to add to it.

And, while I’m saying a fond farewell to this garden, there is a new garden to plan. It’s small (perfect), with very little in it apart from grass (again, perfect). We’re moving in the middle of summer which gives us time to get to know our plot, put a design together prepare the ground for the shrubs and trees that will arrive, bare root, in November.

The best beloved has his heart set on fruit. Apples, plums, cherries and soft fruit. Those big red gooseberries, raspberries, strawberries.

We have a stone wall which I see covered with David Austin’s heavenly scented old English rambling roses at the back where it’s high. And maybe a clematis or two. We’re thinking of lavender along the wall at the side of the house in the front, where the wall is lower. Not sure about what to do with the tree. I can’t imagine why anyone would plant what appears to be some kind of dwarfed eucalyptus in front of a house. No blossom, no lovely autumn foliage. With only its bark to commend it, I fear it may be a tree without much of a future.

For now though, I’m only planning a celebratory dinner at our favourite Chinese restaurant.

THE MOVING CHRONICLES III

Our moving date has been put back a month because one of the links in the chain is having a struggle to get everything done in time. It’s been a very long since we moved house and the last time we did it, we bought a piece of land and built our own, which means I had completely forgotten the frustrations. How slow it is.

There are other things, too. Weird questions keep popping up. Do we live near a church, for instance. I’ve never come across that one before, but apparently some poor souls inherited a house and found themselves with a vast bill for repairing the nave of the local church. Does anyone have rights to the trees, or the wildlife? And don’t ask me about radon gas.

I’m doing my best to remain calm under pressure and be grateful that I have time to enjoy, this one last time, the azaleas and rhododendrons that we’ve planted. The shrubs that we’ve seen from twigs to six foot monsters, the clematis that scrambles over the old oak tree. The bluebells that were a serendipitous extra that came with some topsoil we bought years ago. One last time to enjoy the clean, fresh leaves of a hosta that has travelled with us over four moves.

It’s too big, too established, too comfortable to shift again and I’ll be leaving it behind, along with a note for the new owners to mulch it with coffee grounds to keep the slugs from turning it into lace.