As I sit typing this in the five star luxury of my Mexican holiday room, looking out at the glistening Caribbean Sea, I suddenly realise that this time next week I will be in the chaotic midst of my umpteenth move.
Even the lead up to the holiday, which should have been full of excitement, was overshadowed by the stress of having to make sure I had done enough packing before I left.
Why move and go on holiday at the same time, I here you ask?
Well that’s a good question! Life is never simple, as we all know and this year has been the most eventful that I have had for some time, especially this summer. I have had two grand daughters born, two weeks apart and both early. As we also know, babies are very unpredictable creatures, but a joy just the same.
There have been two fiftieth birthdays, which both needed celebrating – one for a week in Lanzarote and the other an all expenses paid bash in a hotel, with river boat trip included and all meals, in Marlow, right on the river – very nice.
Not forgetting the tenth anniversary celebration with the other half to Bruges, which was wonderful. And to top the year off, I was invited to my half sisters (she is 30 years my junior) wedding in Mexico. So all in all, I am a very lucky lady. Except for having to move again.
I suppose I should be adept at it by now; after all, I have moved five times since I met my other half ten years ago, which on average is once every two years! I have seen an advert on T.V where they claim that most people move eight times in their lives. I reckon I must have moved about twenty.
It wasn’t planned that way of course. When you take into account people get divorced, run into hard times financially, or just have bad luck in general.
I have a mixture of all three. The only house I owned was with my ex-husband. We divorced, I had to find somewhere else to live and then I met the other half.
He had his own property, so I should have had some security for a while. Then he decided to sell his house to finance a business venture and we started private renting. This was supposed to be temporary until the business took off.
It flopped, dramatically in the recession of 2008/9. And worse still, he now owes thousands of pounds in rent on the property he leased for his business, so we have no hope of buying our own place now, being 56 and 54 respectively.
So we are at the mercy of the extortionate rates of the private letting system and will probably never get social housing because we earn too much.
We have had some nice places but unfortunately, the last two landlords have wanted to sell them, so we have had to move.
This time we are downsizing from a three bed roomed house (which we don’t really need but I do like a garden) to a one bed roomed flat.
Obviously we have had to sell/give away a lot of furniture etc. there will be no garden (or balcony) but the only saving grace is that we save a considerable amount of money on the rent.
I do find each time we move, unsettling. It is meant to be one of life’s most traumatic events and I feel I have had more than my fair share. Despite the upheaval, the thing that drives me mad the most is the redirection of post. I swear every time we move, I forget to tell someone. It’s all very well getting the Post Office to redirect your mail but is not full proof. Also it makes you lazy. I inform all the important people of course, like Bank, Utilities, Credit Card companies etc but there are always people I forget.
This time I am going to make a list and make sure I send change of address letters or emails to everybody I get deliveries from. This could take a whole day of my life but I am going to do it, so as not to miss any body, including family and friends of course.
So while I contemplate that, looking out at the view from my hotel window, I have to remind myself how lucky I am and to enjoy the peace and luxury while I am in sunny Mexico and the move will be over soon.
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