House moves are a misery here 'n' there

People often ask me what's different about living in England as opposed to the the US, and my standard reply is, "Everything!" Recently, though, I discovered something that entails the same frustrations, anxieties, and traumas here as it does back home: moving house.

Even one move is enough to show why it ranks among the most stressful events in a person's life.

In the past 18 years, I've moved house nine times. Although I can now list all of the "to do's" blindfolded, the emotional part doesn't get any easier. I'm not talking about leaving behind cherished family, friends, and neighbours.

It's just that as you get older you acquire more stuff, all of which has to be handled and its history and sentimental value considered.

This can take weeks of sitting on the floor, surrounded by photo albums, old love letters, and assorted mementos, as you alternately laugh, weep, and smash things with glee.

Then, there's the sorting of clothes into three piles: keep, throw away, or give to charity.

If the new house is smaller than the old, some things may have to go into storage.

This is why parents are never allowed to move house.

Once you've sorted what to keep, you have to pack it all up.

This requires several trips to the supermarket to collect fruit and booze boxes, which make your possessions look like those of a drunken farmer.

Next, unless you've hired a removal company, you'll have to recruit some muscle.

Most of your friends will mysteriously vanish or find some other pressing matters to attend to (e.g., haircuts, shampooing the dog) on the big day.

Only immediate family and people who owe you major favours can be press-ganged into shifting your stuff. Even then, be prepared to spend plenty on beer and pizzas.

Once at your new abode, it can take days to figure out all the little things you did without thinking at your last address.

What day is the rubbish collected? Who are my neighbours and what are they like?

Where is the closest supermarket? Where can I park my car or bike?

Most importantly, where is the nearest Chinese take-away?

Let's hope you remembered to notify the electric, gas, telephone, and Post Office of your move.

Be forewarned that one of these is a Byzantine organisation which employs a lengthy and bewildering telephone menuing system, numerous security hurdles, and various interrogation procedures before it finally accepts your service order...

Then it gets it completely messed up, and you have to make eight frantic phone calls on the morning of the move when you just might have something more critical to do, like find a clean set of underwear among all of those boxes.

Moving across York is only slightly less complicated than moving across the Atlantic.

For example: you would think America, a country with sophisticated computer systems and files on your every breath since birth, would be able to take in its stride a change of address from the US to the UK.

Not so.

For months after moving to York, I was correcting various companies' strange permutations of my UK address.

The one that took the longest to straighten out was the bank, which was happily sending my statements to Egypt while simultaneously refusing to accept my frantic collect calls.

Each time I move, I vow they'll have to blast me out of the new place.

Check with me in 18 months time to see how I'm keeping that pledge.

17/03/99

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.