It’s moving week.  The time has come and it’s too late to worry whether I’ve cleared the required six washing machines worth of excess baggage and to sit back and watch a couple of utter strangers riffle through your knicker draw whilst you make them endless cups of coffee in the hope that they don’t break any of your precious treasures or laugh at your M&S Bridget Jones’s.

It wasn’t long before the rate of tea consumption was a cause for concern; I had ensured that I picked up a jar of instant coffee last week while we were packing up the London flat to make those endless cups referred to above.  The Turkish are great tea drinkers, but getting hold of regular British builders tea is going to be a bit of a challenge for the next few years.  Along with Marmite and Schweppes Slimline Tonic, tea bags are taking on the value of precious gems.  The jar of instant coffee bought in the hope that not all the movers would opt for tea went unopened and I resorted to using tea bags twice in order to eek out my precious supply.

The two moving guys earned their tea; working flat out between them to wrap, pack and catalogue interminable numbers of boxes with everything we own, with us trying not to hover about getting in the way.

Finally, on the fourth day the container arrived that would transport our worldly goods by ship to Turkey.  The consignment was considerably lighter on tea bags and heavier on coffee than I had hoped, but at least those pesky 6 washing machines seemed to be nowhere to be seen as our stuff was swallowed up into the vast 40ft container.

And then it was formally sealed and gone – on it’s way East a day ahead of us, and scheduled to arrive some 4-6 weeks after.

There is something sad about your house when all the stuff that makes it your home has been removed.  It’s like a scene from a movie where ghosts and memories of good times flit from room to empty room echoing with the sounds of music from dancing in the sitting room after dinner parties, chatting with precious friends over tea in the kitchen, shouting at the cats as they scratch the furniture, and laughter as the girls beat us at cards night after night.  Yes, an empty house as you are leaving is a sorry thing – even when you are as excited as we are about your next big adventure.