I have just disovered that beds from Ikea are six inches longer than English ones, Swedes are taller I suppose. So the super comfortable new bed I bought a few months ago and have been luxuriating in ever since, will not fit into my teeny tiny bedroom at Ditchling. One more worry. I am dementedly making lists and measuring things, also trying to give my possessions away. Every time I go to Ditchling, the house looks smaller.
It is a bit like death, this moving business, speculating as to whether there is an After Life and what form it will take. J gave me a notebook for Mothering Sunday with a list of things I can do if I wake up in the morning, it is raining and I have nothing planned, (this never happens in the Meeting House) Ideas range from writing a novel, making half a dozen quiches for some unnamed recipient, or simply lying on the sofa and reading a book.