With first year having finished quite a while ago I’ve finally bitten the bullet and moved back home. Being the last one standing had its perks, ie. Showering at any time of the day and watching Netflix as loudly as I want. Yet it also had its downsides, as in no one to deal with spiders or moan about washing up with. Below is a list I’ve compiled of some of the worst bits of moving:
1. How many kitchen utensils can seven people possibly produce? I swear to god the stuff multiplies – we only use all of it when the regular stuff is dirty and no one wants to clean. I must have boxed at least seven Asda crates full of the stuff. Nightmare.
2. The age old conundrum, to throw out or not to throw out. The sheer amount of food left in the fridge, freezer and cupboards, I mean, what do you keep and what will grow new things in storage over Summer?
3. Trying to carry many many many suitcases down three flights of stairs is no picnic – it was the only time I regretted living on the top floor. I will miss my skylight.
4. My things have multiplied. I don’t think I’ve even bought that many things over the year, but apparently where the car had space for all my things on the way up, plus three family members, it could now barely hold half of my things and only one family member. It seems I’m a hoarder.
5. Should I clean the sink out? Do I want to clean the sink out? It’s had some dubious substances down it. Actually, thinking about it, I would rather clean the George Foreman grill in the kitchen.
On the other hand, the main thing I did enjoy about the whole moving process was being able to justifiably use the hand carts to transport boxes. Let’s be honest, I made a great hand cart surfer.