The Move just got real, I thought, as I cleaned out the oven with rubber gloves on and a scarf tied round my face, like a very house-trained member of a paramilitary organisation. Even when I was a Proper Cleaner, like, when I cleaned to get money, I never cleaned an oven. It's not a normal thing to do. But I am doing it, because it's only- what- two weeks till the move?
I've ordered some cardboard boxes, so once I've put all my stuff into them, I can start the Mother of all Cleans. You wouldn't think it'd take that long to clean somewhere that's just 3 tiny rooms, but I always get quite involved in cleaning, to the extent that I want to go back and have another go at my oven.
The anxiety dreams about the move to Alnwick have started, obviously. They mostly involve Vikings, stemming from my belief knowledge that all Northumbrians are actually Vikings. I don't know how they'll feel about Celts. Did Vikings and Celts ever even fight each other? I do not know, I am terrible at history, even though I am ancient enough to remember most of it.
Having said this, of course, I am wrong to be afraid of the Vikings, as throughout all my extensive travels through Denmark and Sweden, I was not marauded once. Much to my chagrin.
I think the oven-cleaning chemicals have gone to my head a bit. Here, have a doodle I did of what will happen when I move to Alnwick.

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