The new life is sweet

My office with an unpacked box or two... 

I can hardly believe I'm writing this post from my new office in our new flat in London. I know for those of you who've read all about the trials and tribulations of the Big Move, the news does not come as a huge surprise. For me, however, after the last week's removals disasters, it feels as if I've braved some awful storm and am now on the other side sailing on calm seas.

The area where we are is so quiet, hardly any traffic noise, just a few children playing in the garden below. I know it's Sunday, but even yesterday when our huge removals lorry was parked outside and the two men were running up and down the stairs with the million or so boxes (OK, there weren't that many but it felt as if  there were - our down-sizing efforts hadn't quite worked), it felt as if we were the only people around making an awful racket and disturbing everyone's peace. It'll be interesting to see how a weekday tomorrow compares.

The move-in went nearly to plan. The men and lorry actually arrived ahead of time and our helpers in the form of Son and girlfriend came along just when the unpacking of boxes started. The only disaster was getting our large and heavy sofa into the top floor flat. One of the walls took a bit of a battering, but after the men removed the legs of the sofa it was gently eased in through a narrow bit in the hall. After that it was almost plain sailing, only the dangerous-sounding wheezing of one of the removal men worried me a bit. When I saw him taking a break to smoke a cigarette I understood why his lungs were not really coping with the work, but was even more concerned. Son voiced my thoughts, 'Hope he's not going to die on us.' Unusually there were no complaints from the two men even though the stairs were an obvious problem, but perhaps that had something to do with the fact that the removals company owner's son was one of them. We did have too much stuff though, and decided to leave behind one sofa, a piece of news the men greeted with a sigh of relief. (Literally in the case of the wheezer).

So now we are in, not at all unpacked, but in. Jerry the Dog is happy, the Heath is close by and there are so many new smells to cope with his weeing is becoming ridiculous. Many air shots are fired towards the end of each walk. He's been to the pub two times with us now and always gets a bowl of water to drink and a smile and pat from the staff. I feed him crisps in secret under the table - I know I shouldn't but he's been so good I think he deserves a few treats. All pieces of my new life seem to be falling into place, even on the work front. But more about that later.

The view from my new study