I’m all out of weekends. Not that I have cancelled them, but I have no more weekends in England. As I write this, I am preparing for my walking trip in Spain, which runs from next Saturday morning until the following Saturday night, and the one after that is departure day for the big adventure.
A few people have asked us when our farewell party is happening. I laugh. Margaret is, overall, much nicer than me and frets over whether we should have one. Inevitably, time is accelerating, and neither of us has a free day or evening between now and departure.
I handed in my locker key at the golf club last weekend. I’m not going to get another round in before we leave. Sad though I am to no longer be a member of Tidworth Garrison Golf Club, I’m excited to be a member at Secret Valley Golf Club. This mirrors how Margaret and I feel about the whole move. There is much here in England that we will muss, but there is more in Cyprus to look forward to.
I paid the moving company today.
I needed a sit down afterwards.
Even the insurance bill made me catch my breath. Door to door, our chattels will be in transit for two weeks or so. To insure them for that time will cost us 1.5% of the declared value. An annualised cost of nearly 40%.
Now, I’m no mariner, but as far as I’m aware, my furniture is unlikely to come up against Somali pirates as it hugs France’s Atlantic coast before turning left into the Mediterranean Sea; which is usually about as tempestuous as a puddle. As with all insurance, if we don’t need it, it’s incredibly expensive – if we do need it, it will be very cheap.
The picture is taken on my morning commute – which is one thing that I will miss, although I daresay a swim in the pool will be just as much fun.