No, I’m not gone yet. I’ve come back for a quiet moan about packing. Firstly, no-one is helping, apart from the dog who is asleep on the bed amongst the suitcases (well at least she’s keeping the lid open). Secondly, why do I have three can openers, four corkscrews, several keys of no apparent purpose, and enough tinned tuna to feed a developing country for several months.? Oh, and who bought two jars of pickled onions? Furthermore, everyone wanted pancakes this morning and I’ve packed my recipe book containing my no-fail lovely fluffy pancake recipe, and also the attachments to the blender. And a bottle of soy sauce (check out those Kikkoman ones - you can’t close them, madness) has tipped over in the back of the cupboard and every single jar is sitting in a brown sludge consisting of soy sauce and..er…dust I suppose. And yes, while we’re on the subject, I have already admitted that housework is not my strong point, and finding really gross things and drifts of fluff behind beds is not adding to my mood.
I’m never moving again.
