A year ago, just about to the day, I wrote this blog post about my prospective house move. I’d been living in my one bedroom flat for three years, alone, until the Gods up there deemed me worthy of someone who loved me enough to want to live with me.

And now, just twelve months later, we are moving again. Not because anything awful happened – the Gods still think I’m worthy (and even after twelve months, this man still wants to live with me) but because we are planning for the future, and part of that plan means short term ‘pain’ for long term gain.

Pain is a relative term though. The only part of this experience that will be painful is the actual moving part, 400m down the road. We still get to live in our amazing neighbourhood, with our favourite cafe, tree lined streets and easy commute to the office. The new place is still light and bright, with polished boards and big windows, a pretty outlook and (hopefully) great neighbours. It’s a touch smaller, but the move means we will save almost half the rent we are paying now.

Paris, here I come. Again. Maybe. 😉

Let the downsizing begin again. The first batch of eBay listings are in the mail and I’m slowly starting to accumulate piles around the house – this one for the op shop, this one for my sister, this one to sell at a market. I’ve already chopped all my nails off so the fear of breaking them mid packing is mitigated and resigned myself to the fact that we did it once and survived, we can do it again.

And in the meantime, I’m looking for volunteers to help carry furniture up and downstairs. Any takers?