I moved home on Saturday and as experts will tell you changing address, along with divorce and the death of a loved one ranks as one of the most stressful experiences most people face nowadays. Of course, much of what raises our blood pressure or gets us bouncing off the wall seems comical to those not involved and I'm sure that at some point, I, too will be chuckling over what happened, able to see the funny side of it all.
"So where's the truck?" I ask Spyros, the guy I hired to help me move.
"What truck? We don't need a truck I've got this", pointing towards his tiny Fiat Uno.
"Trust me. I've done this many times before."
My first reaction is to laugh. Obviously, the guy has a wicked sense of humour if he really believes that a double bed, washing machine, sofa etc. are going to fit inside his car. Then I realise with growing horror that he is actually being serious. He really does think that if we take apart, sorry rip apart the bed it will fit. At this point I start to get angry and then stupidly try to reason with him. He stands his ground braving both my anger and logic to insist that everything is possible. He eventually gets his head around the idea that I'm not going to pay him to butcher my furniture. Even as he leaves he asks one last time, "But are you sure? Ive done this before."
So, there I am stuck in the entrance to my flats with most of my possessions laying around the place in boxes and bin liners thinking where am I going to find someone to move this stuff on a Saturday afternoon, just one hours before many businesses close for the weekend.
And, of course this is when the Greek Effect kicks in and friends rally round and with their connections I manage to find a person to help in less than an hour and have the job finished by 4pm.
After months about thinking and worrying about the move I have finally done it. The place looks like a rummage sell with rooms full of bags and boxes. But it's done. The rest is detail as they say.