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…about a million boxes!

I hate moving, I hated it the first time I did it (at the age of 7, and I’m still bitter) and I have never liked any of the following eight and I’m sure the ninth will be just as bad.

I have approached it a little like trying to get an unsuspecting cat into his carrier. There was a lot of pretending that nothing much was going on, moving a few things around, opening and closing doors and then…

Leaping up and trying to gather all the arms and legs together in a coherent bundle, shoving it into a box and running to the car before the crying starts.

But, like the cat, despite any yowls of protest and baring of teeth, we made it on the first leg. We’re staying at my in-laws’ flat (luckily, they’re away just now, because I’ve just halved their bubble wrap collection in an attempt to make room for some of our stuff) while we try to make the flat that we lived in as students seem grown up (more on that later).

So hopefully I’ll get a handle on my blog posts, but I’m not promising anything too concrete just yet!

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