For three years now, we’ve not had our own home.
Well, what I mean is, while we've not been living on the streets, we haven’t lived anywhere we’ve expected to be long-term.
For the last 13 months we have lived on our own in a small rented property, and we’ve called it home, but it’s been more of a base for all our activities, which included being closer to the building site, which will shortly become our new, and proper, gaff.
Our lives have changed significantly over this time.
Not least because we live in very different surroundings. Surroundings, I felt, and have proved to be, much better for our not-so-new circumstances.
We shall tweak our backdrop again later this week, as we make the short trip to our shiny new house. Permanently.
I shall miss our elderly neighbour, who has meticulously put out our bins since we’ve been here. He will be getting a crate of Boddingtons for his trouble, and from the one time I put out his recycling bin, I expect it will go down well.
It will also be more difficult to buy anything, as our much smaller village doesn’t have any shops.
But neither of these things is going to stop me looking forward to moving. Well not moving, I hate moving, but from the prospect of being in our own, pristine dwelling.
I expect it to be a tad, or totally, chaotic for a while, and there will be lots to still do and chalk off.
At the moment, it looks like the actual final fitting out works won’t be totally complete until the end of August. But the place is much more than liveable.
There's the small, yet titanic tasks of changing my address everywhere, and getting an internet connection sorted.
But all these, however annoying, are minute details against, what I hope will be a great family home and the base setting on our all-new tapestry of life, for a good long while.
Wish us luck.