Mind your back!’ I squeeze into the corner of the half-landing as two removal men manoeuvre a chest of drawers down the stairs. They’ve been flat out for a couple of hours now and there’s not much left to go.
From the top of the stairs, I can see into the bedrooms, each one now looking bare and slightly distressed. Or is that just me?
When we bought this place we named it the White House, and I was sure we’d never move again. Yet here I am, preparing to leave it behind. It’s almost 26 years to the day since we moved in but it seems like yesterday.
Martin and I had been hunting round this area for weeks, looking for somewhere suitable to buy. We’d viewed two places in the nearby village that afternoon and were calling it a day when I misread the map. We took a wrong turn and drove past a ‘for sale’ sign for a property we knew nothing about.
The house was set
