On the joys of moving and rats

This week we have been mostly moving. It's an experience people usually find stressful but I managed to add to the excitement by developing a juicy chest infection that probably contributed to the rolling migraines. Oh and then of course within the week, we moved twice and met a rat called George.

The plan was a simple one: sell our house, downsize in London (to a house cunningly situated opposite my allotment) and gain a foothold in our beloved Cornwall. As both transactions converged we needed to move in London and to Cornwall in rapid succession.

I was looking forward to it and like an obsessional nut had planned everything into a cocked hat. But sadly as the day dawned, not only was I struggling to breathe, a migraine had me in its grip. Thankfully moving in our family is a team sport, so Hubbie and my sister took over at both ends to manage our withdrawal and arrival, assisted by nephew, Will and our three. I co-oped the first sofa to come off the truck and made it my base camp. My sister Sue, who should probably be running the country, crowned her house-moving reputation by producing a homemade lasagne with all the trimmings that included lemon drizzle cake for our first meal. I have known Sue all my life so should not be surprised, but it was still lovely and yummy and very clever.

Cornwall came a few days later and here the children were helpful with just a couple of breakages as we unpacked in the world's smallest but quite simply, loveliest cottage. It felt right and the reception we had from friends who live down there, especially my friend Emily - the brilliant restauranteur - made the move all the more special.  A few days of sea air and log fires and I did feel better, but am now back in London and it's all about breathing.

In our new home, we are very happy but the chest infection is, as might have been predicted, in full swing despite three courses of antibiotics, added to which no-one can find knickers, shoes, T-shirts, toilet roll etc. despite my best efforts. We have builders banging something as I write (sorry new, nice neighbours), who have managed to get the heating on after days of no hot water or warmth, quite key when you can't control your body temperature. Oh, and tomorrow, joy of joys, the rat catcher is due.

We need a rat catcher because along with many wonderful housewarming messages and gifts, our reception in our new home in London was enhanced by the biggest, furriest rat you have ever seen, who I swear keeps smiling at me. We have named him George, which is confusing as that is also the name of our electrician, and while we have been marvelling at his tree-climbing and trap-dodging skills (the rat not the electrician) I would rather be looking at his immobile corpse. Roll on the professionals, and has anyone seen the string?