I Like To Move It, Move It

They say moving house is one of the most stressful events a human being can endure. I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this comparison – I wouldn’t exactly put a change of address on the same level as, say, renal failure – but it is indeed a stressful time. I should know, I’m almost finished moving house for the 58th time. If there was some kind of relocation rewards program I’d now have enough points for a yacht. Which I’d then have to move into. (What a stupidly redundant rewards program! No wonder it doesn’t exist.)

First, I had to settle myself into temporary accommodation/s. These have so far included an air mattress in an old prison*, a proper bed, a five hundred year old single mattress, and a blue foam fold-out sofa bed that is identical to the bed belonging to Andrew Stone from Pineapple Dance Studios (and had I known this beforehand, I would have covered it in more bedding and worn longer pyjamas before going near it). Then I had to find somewhere to live, then move in, then wait for my stuff to arrive, then find a replacement housemate for the old one who decided to move out three days after I moved in (is it me? Dude, you could have just said no), and so on.

It’s been such a whirlwind of activity that I keep forgetting the basic principles of occupying new premises. For example, I’ve been in my new place for over a week, but I only learnt where the plates are last night. Why did it take me so long? Couldn’t say. What have I been eating off of for the past nine days? No idea. Where is the rest of the crockery? Good question. What does the top floor of my house look like? Never been there.

I swear I’m not stupid. I’ve just got a lot on my mind:

- Dealing with the fact that there is a shower IN MY ROOM. RIGHT THERE. You open what looks like the door to a built-in robe, and BAM! Taps.**
- Figuring out how the cupboard doors in the kitchen actually open. I remember now why I didn’t find the plates until yesterday – because the kitchen is entirely devoid of handles. Every drawer and door is completely smooth. There is a hidden lip to curl your fingers around to open whatever it is you’re opening (because you don’t know until you’re doing it – drawer? cupboard? microwave? rogue opening in the space-time continuum? NO ONE KNOWS), but you’ve got to fumble around to find it. Why no handles? Yes, it’s very pretty, but what purpose does having an aerodynamic kitchen serve? Has wind resistance been a big problem in culinary endeavours in the past? Nigella never mentioned it in any of her books.
- Trying to get my bathroom sink to drain properly, by removing whatever the last housemate shoved down there. So far I’m up to about a metre and a half of dental floss, a bobby pin, and the plastic casing from a tampon. (I hear she had stupendously large breast implants. My theory is she couldn’t see around them, and just assumed there was a rubbish bin in that corner of the bathroom. Either that or she just got sick to death of trying to find which door the bin was behind in the frictionless kitchen.)

But it’s not all bad. The good part about moving? The really, really good part? The purchasing of new Stuff. When I think about the items that I am now entitled to buy to fit out my new digs, I get a reaction that can almost be described as sexual. Now, I can’t afford a new lounge suite, or a fancy microwave, or in fact any kind of actual furniture – but I am going to buy the shit out of a new shower caddy. Little baskets for the bathroom that attach with suction cups? I’ll have three. Coat hooks that you hang over the door frame? I never hang my coat up, but I still want one.

Oh! And the 3M “Command” range of wall adhesives! All of them. Every. Single. One. If I were to have a corporate sponsor, I’d want it to be 3M. Those sticky, stretchy, velcroey hook things keep my walls adorned and my rental bond secure. I have been known to discover a new kind of 3M Command wall hook, buy it, and then go out to find something to hang from it. It’s a sickness. A convenient, movable, residue-free sickness.

By the way, that is a free endorsement. No one at 3M is paying me to write these things – no matter how many invoices I send them.

*The old prison has been converted into very fancy apartments – I was just being melodramatic.
**As in plumbing, not an American soldier playing the bugle. Although that would be kind of cool. If not startling.