Last weekend involved cleaning and sorting and arranging. And rearranging. Then, after a little while, arranging all over again.
We moved into the new-to-us caravan without too much bother. A few car loads of crockery, bedding and beach things, and we were pretty much sorted. The orange was largely hidden, while many curtains and pelmets were dumped. I kept finding grub when I thought all was clean, but it was probably no worse than the house is.
It appears that moving is a remarkably sociable activity. Men appeared with tool boxes and/or dogs to share the excitement of moving a swirly washing line or fitting a satellite dish. Temporarily, we provided a man shed.
That wasn’t going to last- I had throws and cushions to sort. IKEA may not have many cheap cream throws left. Girls made up all the beds and organised blankets like they’d done all this before. Then they played twister on the new rug.
We have more space, warmth and neutral fittings. We have fewer passers by.
We have views. All the views. When I manage to take pictures that do the scenery justice, I’ll share them. Imagine hills, fields, forest, sea and four counties. We’re in the middle of nowhere, but on a clear day we can see to everywhere.
I live in the city, but I’m not of the city. I need the space to breathe, play board games, and watch a small dog deal with joy of forest-y animal-y smells.