M and I were packing up the house like chickens with our heads cut off for the first half of the day. The hideousity of packing cannot be understated. I am particularly bad at it, because I always think that if I throw anything out I will need whatever it is desperately in approximately three days time. Argh. I infuriate M by packing stuff that we don’t really need – an unused packet of jelly crystals, a candle… while he drives me mad by not packing with any system or precision (this is the same guy who once chucked all our crockery into a box, taped it shut, and called it ‘packed’). Anyway, we muddled through with no arguments, but a growing sense of desperation.

Later in the afternoon I drove M to the auto-electrician (we had to take the van back, as the dash-lights didn’t work), and I left him there while I went to pick up my Dad and his friend Rick from the bus. By then, the Humber indicators were no longer ‘indicators’ they were ‘indicator’. The right one. So we drove home, via three six packs of Coopers, and I showed them around the house. Which was in a state of disarray. We had a night of beer and looking at photos of the house – before and after.