Shoes, Lego and Removalists


Today was a really shit day.

The removalists arrived to start packing up our house.

Because Australia is ten thousand million miles away and it takes two months for a boat to get there, we’re sending all our stuff now so it’s there by the time we arrive at the end of July. So all weekend I was like a petulant child, reluctantly sorting clothes and stuff that we need until then.

I’ve been waiting for a last minute reprieve in the hope we might be able to stay in London and that maybe Rob’s job didn’t need him back in Sydney, but when I opened the door to four burly men this morning with flat pack boxes under their arms I was fairly convinced this ain’t going to happen.

They have estimated it’s going to take three days to pack up our house and a fourth to load the truck. Hard to imagine one family can own so much stuff really.

When we left Sydney in 2007 we only had Holly. Since then we’ve obviously had three more kids and our household contents have nearly doubled. It’s only when you have to itemise everything you own for insurance purposes (in case the boat sinks) that you realise how much shit you own.

I have 63 pairs of shoes.

Rob has 7.

The insurers didn’t actually believe me so I had to take photos of them.

I really hope Rob is too busy to read my blog this week because he will die when he sees that and I’ll be banned from shoe shopping for eternity.

Our Lego is worth Β£900. A lot of money for something I’m forever threatening to throw out every time I step on it.Β The Lego is worth more than our sofa. How strange.

My Tupperware is worth more than all our TV’s. How the hell did that happen?

Charlie’s collection of Thomas trains are worth as much as our iMac. In-freaken-sane.

The entire exercise was a huge lesson in making sure our household contents insurance is always up to date.

It was also a lesson in looking after the Lego and Charlie’s Thomas collection because one day it may be our retirement fund.

So I am going to bed tonight with an extremely heavy heart. It was a really emotional day and I ate a lot of coco pops to combat that. The thing that sucks about emotional eating is my ability to say ‘fuck it’ and just eat whatever I want. Then I feel bad and go and kill myself running to counteract it. But maaaaannn, is there a better comfort food than coco pops? No.

No wonder my heart feels heavy. So does the rest of me. Ten trillion coco pops will do that.


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