The last few days have been exhausting.
The removals men are coming on Monday to shift our things down to the cottage and take the rest into store but we have already started walking stuff down or ferrying it in the merc so that we can see what we have space for. We've moved a wardrobe, chests of drawers, a computer desk, books, papers, china, cutlery, linen, clothing and in between we've packed more of the same for storage. The kitchen table is covered in pots, pans, cutlery, jars, plastic whatsits and thingumy-bobs that come from an accumulation of lives and now are waiting to be packed because they can't fit in the cottage but might just be useful in the future - sometime.
I'm letting go of my father's LPs, but still clinging on to years of videos. I shifted what I thought was an empty suitcase off the top of the wardrobe and found yet another collection of clothes that I haven't even missed in two years - so I guess they will be going to charity.
Too tired to cook, we staggered out to the crêperie at Clairac and sat with Vita at our feet. We slowly relaxed in the warm night air as we relished the light crisp pancakes: in the background, the murmur of French from the other tables, smiling faces caught in pools of light.
Feeling revived, I carried down yet two more pots for the kitchen and closed up windows and doors. The cottage felt welcoming. I walked back up the drive to our scruffy, mouse-ridden, damp old farmhouse and looked up to see The Plough right overhead in the dark sky.
Only two more nights and we will be in.