I'm Not Actually Moving House but...

I’ve been busy.
We’re moving house.
Strange phrase that. Because we’re not, obviously, moving the house. It’s staying where it’s been for the past 100 years or so. We’re actually moving to a new house. But you knew that.
We’re moving house if we can sell the one we’re in.
And that’s the problem.
Because to sell the one we’re in, we have to a) hire an estate agent and b) let complete strangers wander about our home.
Of course, the place has to be clean and tidy. Clean’s not a problem. It’s always clean.

Tidy, well, you see there are two children in the house, Charlotte aged 1 5/6th and me aged 54 1/2.
And there’s the dog, Eric.
Estate agents have favourite words, they would probably call them ‘key’ words, but they use them all the time, so they’re ‘favourite’ words as far as I’m concerned.
Top of the list is ‘de-clutter.’
De-cluttering means putting in inaccessible places things you normally like to have at hand.
This includes things you never use, haven’t seen in an age and/or thought you had put in that skip last year.
De-cluttering has resulted in the beams of our attic being put under enormous strain.
Because in addition to several hundred (it felt like that) pairs of shoes, mostly mine I’m ashamed to say, Christmas and Hallowe’en decorations, parts of a wardrobe, clothes, DIY stuff (not mine), gardening stuff and the like, we had to accommodate the baby’s toys.
Easier said than done.
Because every day, Charlotte has a new favourite.
I lie.
Every ten minutes, Charlotte has a new favourite.
And so putting in the attic, as we did, the green dinosaur rocking, er, dinosaur, the big purply thing, the noisy organ yoke (there are upsides) and lots more, is risky.
Eric is a bit put out. That’s not true either. He’s completely put out. Because put out is exactly what happens to him when we’re cleaning.
And he likes being inside.
Dogs, as you are aware, aren’t toilet trained.
And they grey slabs which make up the bulk of our tiny garden, are stained with Eric’s efforts over the years.
So, for the first time in my life, I had to wash the garden.
Yes indeed, it is possible to wash a garden.
When all is done and dusted (and polished) we then wait for the estate agent to arrive, unable to sit on a couch for fear of disturbing the cushions, unable to make a cup of tea for fear of leaving a ring-stain on the counter, unable to use the toilet for fear of… Well. Just for fear.
And then in traipse people who will undoubtedly criticise our home, say it’s over priced, say they don’t like it and move on to do the same to someone else’s.
I mean, how many of the people who view ‘for sale’ houses, are actually in the market, do you think?
Personally, I believe the vast bulk to be nosey parkers.
It’s tiring. And I’m tired.
I would really love to just pack a case and go off to the sun for a holiday.
Strange phrase that.
Because I don’t actually want to go the the sun… But you knew that.
Isn’t that more or less where you came in?