At every turn, one tends to think, well that's the hard part out of the way. And then you get lost in Brussels with no credit left on your phone and a bunch of people in two places waiting for you.
But I'm jumping ahead of myself!
Always allow yourself twice as long to do anything as you think you will need. Of course, I didn't. I happily trolled off down the Council thinking I could just drop my keys and scarper. They made me take a fucking number. They kept telling me I couldn't just leave the keys and go, and that someone would be down in a minute. No they really will be down in a minute.
I should have just walked out. What could they do? The rent was paid, notice was given and the keys returned. Now if you'll just fill in these two forms. Someone will be down in a minute. At one point the lady started telling me my address as I filled in the forms. I replied politely through gripped teeth that I knew my address.
Anyway, later. As the Eurostar did its weird surging humming departure, I had a sudden surge myself of excitement, loss, fear, and probably extreme disbelief. That was it - I was gone. I have left the building.
Now what was it I said? Always allow yourself twice as long...oh yeah.
I got lost looking for the storage place where I was meeting the moving company. Helpfully I wrote instructions to myself "get off the bus and walk south". Because on a map you can see which way is south. In real life you can't, you stupid great wazzock. Forty minutes of wandering around apparently nameless streets, asking people who didn't have a clue, phoning the storage place until I ran out of credit...and the moving company had been waiting for me over one and a half hours when I got there. (They were lovely. I tipped them heavily.)
Taxi to my residence - I arrived about an hour later than anticipated. Of course I couldn't phone them because I'd run out of credit and was busy rushing round the scene of a low-budget horror movie (endless identical empty corridors with lights that just about come on as you walk). The nice lady who I'd been dealing with up till now had gone home. Fuck. Arse. Fortunately the front door was opened by a very helpful girl from the fifth floor who phoned Nice Lady for me. I got a bit of a bollocking, fair enough, and then she told me my keys were in the wardrobe.
And here I am. Champagne, internet access, had some crisps, and got the radiator on. Honey, I'm home.