It’s happened again, and in an idle moment I counted how many times it’s happened in the past twelve years.
I’ve moved offices thirteen times in the past twelve years. That’s over two employers, not counting the change necessitated by the move of employment.
It’s always the same, though. It takes longer than you either expect or plan, you lose stuff, something doesn’t work, you find stuff that you thought you’d lost during the previous move, or the one before that you have to find crates and boxes, you have to do any amount of last minute sorting and shredding, and you have to be prepared to lose things, or at least mislay them until the next move.
And then the lift breaks down.
Just before you move the furniture.
And then you spend days, weeks or months tripping over the stuff you haven’t yet put away.
And every time you swear it’s going to be different. That you’re going to be like your colleagues who are so organised and don’t hoard stuff.
But it isn’t.
The upside is that I now have a room overlooking a lawned area of the university, a room big enough to have a studio, albeit a small one. And of course over the years I’ve managed to acquire enough technology to make a gadget freak feel right at home.
The other upside is the address – I’m now in Room 101.