I feel as if I'm between lives at the moment. It's a very odd sensation. We've got our moving date now - Thursday 12th (I put my foot down about moving on Friday 13th) so we've just got two and a half weeks left of the Brighton era. I can't quite believe it. I have moved around a lot since I left Nottingham at 18 - Leeds, London, Sydney, Perth, London again, Oxford, London again, Brighton... and on to Bath next month. That feels like a lot of cities and house moves to me. I am looking forward to putting down new roots now and settling for a long, long time.
It's that end-of-era thing that gets me all sentimental. The Brighton years have been fantastic. I will look back on them very fondly as a time of motherhood, family life, friendship and making a go of it as a writer. Two of my children were born in this house, in our bedroom. I love the fact that their births have added to the 'history' of our house, along with all the other people who have been born or died within these walls. It might sound mad but that is actually what I'm finding one of the hardest things about leaving, saying goodbye to that room where my son and youngest daughter first came into the world. When we moved out of our flat in London, where our eldest was born (also in the bedroom), I felt like I was leaving a major memory behind. I'll be sobbing in that removal van when we go, I can tell you now.
So, we've started packing up. Partner went out and got a 'moving kit' of boxes supposedly for a 3 or 4 bedroom house, although whoever thought that you only needed 10 small, 8 medium and 5 large boxes for a house move clearly had no books and no children. And it's something of a wrench, piling up all the things for the charity shops - old baby stuff that's been right at the back of the eaves in the loft, old toys that won't get played with, old clothes...
I'd better go and do some work and stop wallowing in all of this. I'm welling up here!
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