When one moves house one finds oneself doing extraordinary things. Like reducing your living space to about one metre squared surrounded by hired boxes which contain all of your worldly possessions. Similar to camping (I'm told) as the move date grows nearer you are reduced to the barest of essentials such as one spoon, a knife and fork, a cup and cereal for breakfast, lunch and dinner. The wine collection is sacrificed in order to pack one less box and you find a new culinary adventure in bananas and weetbix accompanied by a crisp 2006 Chablis. When the day finally arrives you are relieved as the furniture items are up-ended and stuffed into the truck. And without fail there will be a shameful pair of undies in the space where the bed was, lying there in the dust smiling up at you as the removal men drag the mattress away. You stare blankly into the back of the truck with homeless people's blankets protecting your sad home comforts for their journey to the new premises. And then you throw yourself into your vehicle and drive like a lunatic to beat the truck to the new address. Then after everything is unloaded, once again you are surrounded by boxes and are living in one metre squared of space. You look for that spoon, fork and knife and hope to god you remembered to move the undies.
