A night spent in my own bed, with my own pillows and duvet, reading by my own lady lamp, sitting at my own desk now, sipping a cappuccino in my own mug. The books are all in the book cases - in alphabetical order, please note. I am the unpacking queen. (The show off mention of alphabetising books, reminds me suddenly of being summoned by Jane from recovering from a root canal to help her get her new book shop ready for opening. In one afternoon and evening I stocked in alphabetical order – obviously – the entire wall of fiction. So yesterday’s book unpacking session was nothing, really.)
Yes, there are still a couple of boxes to unpack (clothes which I figure can wait a day as they’d already been in boxes for three months), plugs to change on other lamps, pictures to hang on walls, surplus boxes to be flattened, but, hey, I’m bloody impressed with how much I got done yesterday.
I am in love with the removal men (particularly the tall one with the walrus moustache and the deep, bass voice), not so much because they were lovely (which they were), but because they put my bed frame back together for me in no time flat. I’d been dreading that chore, remembering all the cursing involved in trying to assemble it originally in Stoke Newington, remembering the discovery that the instructions (packed in some box somewhere) were actually wrong, but not remembering how. Without the removal men, I suspect I would not have been sleeping on my own bed last night and I know the day would not have gone so well.
Back to the last boxes. Pics to follow.
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