Moving house is easily one of the most stressful things you can do next to running from a hungry tiger, except it’s like running from said hungry tiger continuously for about 4 months.
It’s weird looking at the photos of my daughter playing in the bath for the last time in a home Lou and I have lived in for around 7 years, Anna for nearly 4.
We lost out on two properties one by only £200 and the other by thousands, it really is best not to know by how much you miss.
If you’ve been following me on Flickr you’ll probably recognise most of the flat from these pictures, like the room above, that’s where I set up my darkroom for some wet printing fun.
Or this one, above, where it actually all started.
The utility room where I stood for hours developing films and washing shitty prints listening to weird music or my favourite boxing podcast, Ring Theory.
Or the sofa I just couldn’t get up from most evenings after a long day at work. I surely moulded that thing around my body like a living organism from a David Kronenberg movie.
The kitchen floor where I almost exclusively loaded my film holders or developing tanks and where Lou and I cuddled Anna when she had terrible teething pains in the wee hours.
The living room where Anna had her first proper bout of projectile vomiting thanks to a stomach bug from nursery. Right where the rocking horse was.
There’s too many memories to jot down and none that will interest anyone other than ourselves, good and bad, but we have to move on and change is in the air.
A new beginning awaits us all; Anna soon starts school; my wife and I both have new jobs; and we’re living somewhere new but just temporarily, still house hunting.
Change is good.