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.