From
Here to Sandbach - A Moving Story.
I
suppose up until this point in my life, I would be what some people
might call as a 'southerner' – not by choice mind you, more a chain of unrelated circumstances - a string theory, if you will. But that is all about to change along
with everything else in my life - except my girlfriend of course,
after all, there's no sense going completely crazy. For we are
currently in the throes of packing up sticks – breakables et al –
as we bubble wrap our lives up, and prepare to take lock, stock, and
barrel out on the road, transporting them across several motorway
systems, and a number of historical sites, en-route to a new compass
setting – the North lands. Yes, the place where people are friendlier, house prices uncommonly lower and the weather is more changeable. I followed the reasoning, that if people are more friendly up North, then Scottish folk must be positively brimming over with congeniality. Alas, my girlfriend informed me that there is some geographical statute of limitations in place rending this particular attribute null and void - probably due to the Celtic clime or possibly a slow broadband reception or other - and I tend to trust her view, as she is more world weary than myself.
'They'
say that moving home along with marriage and death are among the most
stressful things that you will encounter in life – I might have to
check my sources on that last one. But, I can certainly testify to
the verasidity of this conclusion, as it has consumed my entire
life, ever since it was first 'suggested' to me by my loved one. From
it's gentle conception – usually, around the mid-night hours,
which apparently is the optimum time for any machiavellian plans
hatched by the female of the species - of it's notion, to it's '
resistance is futile' conclusion. Finally, a surrender: and an
agreement that change is as good as a nights rest. Followed by an
'innocent' exploratory expedition to the North Lands, resulting –
naturally - in the purchasing of a domicile, categorised as ' a dream
house' and so the 'adventure' begins.
Now,
friends, relatives and solicitors – not necessary in that order –
shortly followed by surveyors, social media and then the WORLD –
again, in no particular order – and all informed and notified of
the pending process. Then if you're really unlucky you will be
involved in some sort of 'chain' , which can be seriously detrimental
to your dreams, hopes and sanity. As a general rule of thumb anything
that involves the word 'chain' should be avoided where ever possible.
Fortunately, we were at the top of this particular 'food chain', as
it were, re: buyers versus buyees market, and things seemed to go
quite smoothly - so I'm reliable informed by my girlfriend, well she
should know better than anyone, as this whole shebang was pretty much
her show.
And
so onto the final stages, packing and so forth. At first we are full
of good intentions, with an ordered and methodical way of packing:
books in this box, clothes in that one and glasses in the other. The
following day the odd book seems to finds it's way into a box of
clothes. By the end of day THREE, books, socks, Baby Cham glasses and
that strange little ornament you inherited from somewhere along the
way, are all wildly cast into the same box ominously marked 'Odds
and Ends'. A life slowly disassembled, broken down and compartmentalized, or as my girlfriend commented surveying the
aftermath,
“ It's
surprising just how much muck and cobwebs there is !” -
highlighting her northern roots.
As
'D' Day descents, our old home had been replaced by a cardboard
monument, a testimony to power of blood, sweat and wrapping tape. A
lifetime of emotions and memories flat-packed and marker penned ' To
Be Continued ', now thrown into the back of a heavy goods lorry and
shipped to a new post code, between the borders of 'hope' and '
tomorrow'.
We
set off a day earlier than the removal van, hoping to get ahead start
on things the next morning, in our over-laden, but responsible packed
cars, full of personal treasures and emergency supplies –
tea/coffee making facilities and loo paper, the basic building blocks
of any civilisation. I decided to tailgate my girlfriend – she
seemed to instinctively know her way like an out of season duck
flying in an inversed manner – on our journey up, while listening to
an old cassette tape, retrieved from the back of some long forgotten drawer:
Dawson Creek – Volume One. Changing it to the ' The Soprano's –
Soundtrack' – courtesy of another 'lost' drawer, on the latter part
of the trip, playing it loudly, fearing I might be overheard and
exposed as a 'soft southerner', well there was no point tipping my
hand too early.
Well,
we've finally arrived - I had the opening title sequence of the Beverley Hillbillies playing in my mind, for some reason - at Sandbach - a historical Market Town - in one family sized lorry and two cars and are now currently wading through, no strike that, we are presently in that state of unpacking limbo, where you find everything.. except the one thing that you're desperately trying to locate – it's probably in one of those 'Odds
and Ends' boxes, buried in the garage underneath a pile of moving boxes and old empty suit cases ...at the very back. But we have high hopes to shortly regain access to the
front door, in order to seek out new life and socialization. And then
once unpacked all we have to do is completely redecorate the house,
re-landscape the whole garden whilst trying to find gainful
employment, and make new friends.... simple, right ?
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