The past few months have been hectic: clearing lots of space in Dave's house; moving everything from Clare's house either to Dave's, the charity shop or waste disposal; getting ready to let Clare's house; Christmas and New Year complete with both families; forcing through Dave's career break arrangements; finishing off both our jobs and working out how to hand everything over to our replacements; not forgetting the myriad preparations necessary for our little trip.
It has been pretty stressful, but we appear to have survived (and could plausibly claim to have thrived, but let's not over-egg the pudding).
The whole thing has been driven by lists! More lists than I've ever seen before. Lists on backs of envelopes, lists on big sheets of paper, lists on smartphones and tablets. Bloody, wonderful lists. Places to empty brain turmoil out into, to make space for the generation of more. And then (please God) the gradual death of a thousand little pests, sitting there in rows on the page, shouting that you're not allowed to sit down and rest yet.
Even now, the day after we've both left our jobs, the lists aren't empty. I still have to get my last Rabies jab and go back into my office to drop off my work laptop and phone. I've lost a receipt for £150 of expenses that I won't be able to claim if I don't find it before we go.
Still, the lists are continually getting less and shorter. The biggest list left is the packing list, one that we've been drafting for weeks. I don't suppose I mind that list so much.
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