One thing missed off the "glad to leave" list is the toilet. Firstly going down the corridor to the toilet with a roll of loo paper. It all feels very Butlins. Secondly the repeatedly faulty cistern. I've found out how to set it right again but it would have been slightly helpful if the residence manager had mentioned it. Or, indeed, got it fixed when I reported it.
Never mind. Max Fleming can do it after I'm gone. Max Fleming can do everything after I'm gone. He can party all night. He can leave his rubbish in the wrong bags. Knock yourself out, Max Fleming.
It is deeply cold here today but I've managed to get the feeling back in my feet by leaving the cooker hob on. I'm sure this is highly unauthorised behaviour but what the hell.
Tomorrow I'm meeting random strangers at the storage facility (Stanley knife in pocket) to offload some things I won't have room for in my flat. Sadly one of these is my ancient oak table. But it's only a table and there will be other tables. It is a weird feeling knowing that come Tuesday, all I will own is some books and some household stuff. This really is starting again from zero. Or zero point five. Ish.