My Life Fits in a 75ft Metal Box

On a journey, the first of the day, to my car with boxes of belongings I heard above me the wonderfully wild cry of the Red Kite.  I looked up and there were a pair, so close I felt as if I reached up I could touch them, I could see every feather, the power of their wings, it was breathtaking.  And one of the things I shall miss about living here.  In ancient times the sight and call of these birds would have been taken as a sign, an omen, whether it be good or bad, on our house move.  Mind you, in ancient times I probably would have shot them down and feasted on them with pickled dumplings,  but there you go.

And so we moved.  Well, not exactly moved, more of a shifted into a pause phase as we have yet to enter a new home.  To and fro, back and forth, all day, willing (and, as the day progressed, far less willing) arms and hands helped us to manoever the last of our many belongings and bits and bobs into the storage unit.  Finally the flat was clear, the car was full to bursting with the last load, and we sat, completely exhausted on the landlady owned bed and watched the distant village fireworks display from the bedroom window.  A might of colour and sounds, whizzes and bangs, swooshes and such an array as to dazzle even the most damp cynic.  Surely another sign?

The day came to a close, creaking as we did, and we pushed the final pieces of our lives into that 75 foot square metal caged room.  Full to the door, literally.  When did we get all this stuff?  Why do we still have it?  How can we have accumulated so much?  And, poetically speaking, the things we would really miss would probably have fitted into a small bag, leaving us with a freedom to sell and donate to charity every other thing we had.  Oh to have such courage!

The weekend was spent at the Holiday Inn, Maidenhead.  Never has a hot bath been so readily received by so many aching muscles.  Never has beans on toast tasted so good. 
The deal was 2 nights for the price of one.  That Saturday night I would have gladly paid double just to have a chair to sit upon, a bed to lie in and a TV to stare blankly at. 

Maybe those Red Kites and the firework display were a carrier of good tidings, maybe our move will be a great adventure.  Maybe these next 40 nights between homes will be fun.  All we can do is wait and see.

Sometimes, on TV, I have seen news articles of refugees fleeing war, water, famine, hurricane........ and with them they bring their possessions, those things that they cling to that say 'this was my life, this is what defined me' and, possibly because they have possessions it also says 'I can be counted'.  We gather things about us even when without home to identify a home in transit.  Whether it be a blanket, a pet, some books, a bowl, with these things we lay claim to a territory that is 'ours'.  If we settle at night on a dusty road we are lost, if we settle on that roadside in a blanket, with our cooking pot and the three dishes we salvaged from the storm then we have a claim on that patch, it becomes ours, it becomes a homely patch and we can sleep.  It amazes me what people take with them.  Sometimes we see cartloads of belongings.  And yet, here I am, simply  moving, no disaster behind me other than a  break in domicile, and I need a van to transport my goods, I need a portion of a warehouse to store said goods, and I need suitcases to keep close to me those things that are mine. 

We have moved more 'stuff' into the lock up.  Seems it is a manly task, there is a great satisfaction to the metal clanging of heavy lifts, the loading of a flat bed trolley, the padlocks, the endless rows of storage units.  As a non man I can see it is a playground for men wanting to clang and lock and wheel. For me its like putting my life on hold, in a hold.

And the days have increased.  Landlady wanting flat back earlier is equal to a reduction in rent payable and thus equals an earlier than planned departure.  We leave on Saturday. 27th. 9pm.

Tick Tock

If truth be told (a phrase that exists so that the sayer can say something harsher than they wish it to be, but beg forgiveness on the claim to honesty) If truth be told I am a large person, I take up a higher percentage of space than many others, I abosrb more plantary useage of land allowance than some it has to be said.  In ancient times I would be revered, carvings found at the time of the mammoth were never of slim beings, always huge round ones.  Therefore I am the right size for the wrong era.

In my dreams I am slim, I even place a mirror now and then in a dream, and part way through the action I stop, gaze at myself in some suprise and marvel at the fact I am really quite slim.  The action continues, the dream ends, I awake and there I am - as large as ever I was.

Does it matter?  Well, for most of the time I have been large - yes.  Mostly to other people.  People who express concern for my health, people who stare, or mock, or comment.  The most honest comment I ever received was from a young child who looked at me and simply announced 'You're fat'.  The less than honest response from his less than appealing parents was a less than hidden giggle.  But, armed with my newly discovered knowledge gleaned from this most observant family, I proceeeded to the restaurant where I ate what I wanted to.  With relish.  Because then I didnt care.  I am quite comfortable, I said, I thought, I felt, in my body.  If you dont like -  dont look.

And now.  It has seeped into my mind that my weight has been a barrier against what I feared - the views and contact of others, and a barrier against what I want - to live life as fully as I can.  And I say this with a sigh.   Sigh.   For the moment I start to mind I have to take action.  Oh, do not be fooled into thinking I have not actioned before.  I am a venerable expert of diets, diet clubs, diet foods, diet drinks, my life has been awash with calories since my last child was born and I found most of the baby weight was, in fact, now my weight.  I can reel off whole sections of diet books, and enter many a consideration on the difficulties of Atkins if you dont eat meat.  BUT I remain determindly overweight.  Every weight loss minor has resulted in a weight gain major.  Ah the wisdom of the yo-yo diet when it is 20 years too late.

A friend once said to me - of giving up smoking - 'I realised most of the time I tried to give up I was just a smoker who wasnt smoking at that time, I had to actually become a non-smoker'

And this is it.  I have to become a non-comfort eater.  I have to become one who exercises.  I have to become less of a physical person in order to enjoy being a person at all.

What can we do but try?  Well, we could succeed.

Are you homeless if you're in a De Vere?

I return to my blog like a prodigal son, but as I can no longer eat beef the fatted calf is safe and we look, instead, to the cheese topped veggie lasagne.  And the reason for my return?  I am about to become, albeit in a comfortable Home Counties sort of way - a transient, a nomad, and, on paper at least - homeless.  It is arguable that as I will have somewhere to actually reside I am not able to use the description 'homeless' but let me tell you as a soul who craves for the anchor of being home, as one who misses home even on a best of holidays that I will feel without home, and my abodes will certainly be less than any home.

I move out of my flat in a week.  I move into my new home 40 days following that.

I had the challenge, intially, to consider renting a short term flat.  The cost advertised on several sites looked tempting, but when one enquired further it transpired that all of these flats were single rooms without bathrooms, and if I actually wanted a double with a bathroom the price trebled (and then some).  OK.  I considered serviced accomodation, but only for the precise time it took to find out that such came at a price of £118 a night.  Then I considered buying a cheap campervan, budget £800, living in it for the duration then selling it for at least £700, thereby making our stay have a light impact financially.  But I was outdone by two things - one the site fees were in their twenties most nights and this made Travelodge cheaper, and two - my partner in crime thought living in a small van with no toilets in a muddy field in winter seemed somehow less than appealing.

And so I turned to Hotels, and primarily I turned to hotel deals.  Let me tell you I have spent many an hour juggling locations, prices, deals and variables and I have had many a sleepless night considering the benefits of location over facilities.  And so, here, today, I have booked us into as many hotels as I could find, four nights left unbooked and I have come in on budget.  Phew!

Budget - My aim was not to exceed our 'normal' rent if at all possible.  For the 40 nights I considered 30 of them to be at the rent rate and the other ten to be a daily rate.  I also figured into this the fact that we already had a holiday booked to Morocco....... but we would have gone on this and still paid rent, so I didnt take these days out of the consideration.

So, what follows is a daily update of where we stay, what we pay, how we eat and how my strong need for a home base survives.