F**k Moving!

If there's one thing in life I hate above all else it's moving house.

So guess how I've been spending my weekend?

This is the state of my bedroom at the moment as I wrestle with my overly large library.



And the living room is not a hell of a lot better.



Seriously it has been bloody awful and I have to say I'm not overwhelmed with felicitous feelings for my former landlord who chose to put our old home on the market and cast us out onto the streets 10 days before Christmas. The only solace in it all is that the property market is now apparently on the slide so the evil bastard is likely to get his comeuppance.

Hah!


Anyway moving in Wellington is a little different top moving anywhere else. The city, while reasonably picturesque, is cursedly hilly so access to properties can be a bit like ascending from base camp at Mt Everest. My new flat is a case in point.

The movers (yes I shelled out for movers as there was no way in hell I was lugging all my crap around), well their faces dropped when they saw what they were faced with.





It was sort of like scaling an alpine pass. This shot shows the little path that they had to wend their way up while staggering under the load of my worldly possessions.

Then there was worse in store ... what every mover fears most.



Stairs. Lots of them with nasty twisty turns. Just what you need when you're lugging a 48" TV. I almost felt sorry for the poor bastards. However the fact I was paying them about 90 bucks an hour did temper that emotion to a slight degree.



Anyway this shot gives you a rough idea of the height difference from my carpark to where my flat actually is.



I figure the movers earned their pay, and so did they. Poor buggers were absolutely shattered at the end of it and not happy that they still had two other jobs to do.

Naturally I was very grateful and promised that I'd use them next time I moved. Their response; thanks but really we'd rather never see this place again if we can help it so consider contracting some other suckers.