Truly, unlike last year’s move, which involved having a room built in my basement, packing up 20 years’ worth of stuff, navigating international paperwork, and the Delta strain of COVID, this year’s should have been a doddle. In fact, because I haven’t been walking the dog, I have had so much time on my hands so I really went to town from a sorting & packing perspective. And by the time the inspector arrived at noon, and the movers at 2:00, I had been sitting reading a book for quite some time.
First of all, I went with a local mover who was well recommended. I explained I was taking 4 pieces of furniture and some boxes to the new place, and asked the rest to be put in storage. The receptionist explained that unlike some storage rentals, once my furniture was in a storage locker, I could not re-visit my stuff. She said so more than once. So I was extra diligent about (a) separating cottage-bound from storage-bound and (b) making it as easy as possible for the removal men to move everything out.
When they arrived, I showed them which pile was which (I had dragged things together so all cottage-bound items were in a single corner of the living room), so they could load the items for storage first and the cottage-bound last (LIFO) and off they went. It seemed to be going swimmingly, everything moving very fast. They then followed me to the new house and started to unload my bed. ???? No, I don’t want the bed here, I want the sofa, desk, lamp, boxes, and suitcases here. Oh dear – they had misunderstood and the sofa and all the other cottage-bound pieces went first in. Crap. They could go to the storage locker, empty out the storage-bound stuff from the front of the load, then come back with the rest. But I wasn’t convinced they would get all the boxes right, and I’d end up with no underwear, an extra bed, and all the food locked away for the winter. And she had been clear: NO re-visiting the locker!
Could I meet them at the storage lockers? Sure, they said, and off they went without waiting for me to follow. Their business doesn’t show on Google Maps and they have no physical address on their website (to discourage those who wanted to re-visit their stuff perhaps?). So I called and got directions – you know, the kind of directions a local gives: Do you know Jolly’s, the fish mongers? Yes. Good, two roads downhill from them, you make a left then an immediate right and you’ll “be heading towards us.” Okey doke.
Got there, found them unloading and thought, great, we’re back on track. Well, no, not quite. It seems they misunderstood how much stuff I had (I had sent them a list) and didn’t have enough lockers for me. It’s now late on a Friday afternoon, they can’t find their boss, and I’m getting cold. Well, they sent me home with the truck with the smaller load following – I have no idea how they managed to store everything, and I’ve chosen not to ask. None of it has sentimental value; I have photos of all of it , along with receipts, and if, in April, things are missing, I’ll deal with it then (so Scarlett O’H).
Got to the cottage where they unloaded everything – the right stuff. Then I emptied my car, and headed back to the old place for a final hoover, and to pick up the dog. Back to the cottage, and started unpacking. And unpacking. And unpacking. Hard to believe I’m only here for six months. Then it was time for dinner – but that’s another story.
When I went to bed that night, I was too tired to even make the bed properly, or shift the dog. I wrapped myself in a duvet and slept across the top half of the bed.