I’ve been living like a tortoise for the last week, carrying everything I need on my back.

No, I haven’t suddenly been evicted. I’ve been going through the agony of moving house (if you can call it that, when the moving is from a cottage to a flat).

And although I absolutely love my new place, I’m afraid I can only think of a few of my least favourite things to do with the rigmarole of moving.

Here’s what I’ve got:

  • Unwittingly moving into a third-floor flat in a building without a lift, and having to carry everything up what felt like thousands of stairs.
  • Using muscles I’m pretty sure were never meant to be used while lugging bags and boxes and containers up the previously mentioned stairs.
  • Unpacking said bags and boxes and containers (it takes a lot longer than you’d think to find space for not one, not two, but six teapots).
  • Not being able to find anything, anything at all, from teaspoons to socks to shower gel.
  • Finding out too late that our fridge is just 1cm wider than the built-in-fridge-hole. We now have an artsy squiff fridge — half in, half out.
  • Realising how much stuff I’ve accumulated — at only 26! — and realising that I probably don’t need to buy anything ever again.

    A lifelong vow of shopping celibacy. Tough call.

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    Bridget McNulty

    Bridget McNulty

    Bridget McNulty is a writer, content strategist and creative director. She is the editor of Sweet Life diabetes lifestyle magazine (www.sweetlifemag.co.za) and...

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