Having moved four times within the space of less than three years I want to say I’m done. You know, for a while. It’s tiring and we had a few casualties over the course of the last one. And I refuse to go back to Ikea in the near future in spite of the fact that we have money left on a voucher there. I barely made it out alive last time. It’s not just the packing, it’s the unpacking, the booking of a moving van, the frustration when said movers don’t turn up at the agreed time, the planning of where stuff’s going to go, the identification of new guff you have to buy. Essentially a living hell.
But there’s an advantage to my extensive experience. I may have numerous flashbacks that disturb me in the night as a cold sweat threatens to ruin my sheets. However, it means I can pass vital knowledge on to you. A lot of press and attention is given to the subject of moving in with someone. You have to inventory your stuff, convince them that where multiple similar items are owned yours are vastly superior and consider the fact that wandering round in the nude just won’t be the same again. Especially if it’s just a friend you’re rooming with.
But once you’re a unit, a household, moving together is a different kettle of fish. You have to negotiate whose name is one which bill and other stuff. It’s definitely a big deal. You had space together that was collectively yours and now you have to negotiate the rocky road of putting your stamp on somewhere totally different. Or just crack out some rocky road ice cream as you’ve been drained by the move. You might even have to think about decorating too. Minefield. I’ll probably give you all the guidance on it once I’ve summoned up the energy to do some.
Move together – James Bay