Moving House

I mentioned in an earlier post that my parents moved house at the end of September.

It really was a momentous occasion as they have lived there for the last 46 years.

I left home when I was 18 and moved from student accommodation to a variety of flat / house shares until I bought my own house.

At that point I was “off” men and had decided to be an independent woman living alone with my cat.  Of course as soon as I made that decision, I met my husband.

Later he moved in with me. I was married from that house and brought both my babies home to it.  But when our second boy was born we felt that we had outgrown the house and moved into our current one.

Because I have moved so many times, I don’t get too attached to houses, but the one constant in my life has always been my parents’ house.

Me, my brother and sister-in-law went to help them move and said our final goodbyes.

I took a special moment to say goodbye to my old bedroom.  A tiny box room where I spent my teenage years, dreaming of my future.

My parents have moved to a bungalow which will suit them much better for the next stage of their lives.  It needs a lot of work doing to it but the house has a lovely atmosphere and I’m sure they’ll be happy there.

Now I just need to remember which house they are living in and not end up at the old house whenever I go to visit.

Sunbed Wars

Being on holiday, having nothing to do all day makes the little things seem so important – and, yes, I am talking about sunbeds here. 

Personally, just something that is comfortable suits me but my sun-seeking husband likes to achieve maximum sunlight potential.  The resort we were staying in last week only seemed to get the sun on one side of the pool so every morning it was a dash to get those towels out, even having to resort to setting the alarm.  Sheer madness!  On several mornings one of the pool attendants decided to exert his control and refused to allow anyone to put towels down until 8am.

Each family’s designated sunbed acquirer (in our case my husband) stood pacing, holding their bundle of towels until on the dot of eight, were all released and then marched en-mass to their favoured spot.    Wondering what was happening on the first morning this happened, I stepped out to see what going on and was greeted by the sight of holiday makers looking as if they were marching off to war. 

It was certainly a sight to behold – and I bet the hotel staff were laughing their socks off – but hell hath no fury like a sun seeker banished to the shade.