“Why are you writing on all that paper?” – JD, 4
We moved house recently. Upped sticks. Left town. Scrammed. Vamoosed!
It was exciting, it is exciting, but ohhhh, I am totally, utterly exhausted now. It wasn’t the move itself. Actually the practicality of getting ourselves and our stuff from ‘A’ to ‘B’ was pretty easy. It wan’t the kids – they’ve been amazing. It wasn’t the heavy lifting or the late night battles with dodgy alum keys, oh no.
It was what followed that caused a flipping nightmare: paperwork *lightning flashes, thunder, distant screams, evil laughter*
Signing the tenancy agreement was just the beginning. Then there was registering with utility companies, giving meter readings, sending off change of address forms, sending more change of address forms in response to letters saying our signatures didn’t match (argh!), school registration forms, doctor’s registration forms.
Do we drink? Do we want to pay by Direct Debit? Have we considered switching to dual fuel? National Insurance number? NHS number? Weight? Time in employment? AAAAGH!
And then there was the home insurance. How much do we actually own? Does anyone really know? Do you? So first there was brain-wracking, hand-wringing and lots of sums before the whole task suddenly ballooned as we realised every insurance provider asks for values based on new for old replacements and Mark and I tend to buy second hand – oh, the confusion. Oh, the hours of research. Oh, the boredom!
And what about what you take outside the home with you? Could you put a value on it? Well you’ll need to, because if you want it covered, the insurers will want numbers.
So that was a joyous few hours as we meticulously totted everything up once again to make sure we’d always be properly covered. We might make it a hobby. Or not.
So having finally succeeded in reducing our lives to a sad looking value in pounds and pence, we tootled online and had a look at Comparethemarket.com. We entered our details, we found a quote we liked (the cheapest, natch), we bought. Done. It wasn’t so bad actually.
So, on to the next job. Now where did I put my birth certificate?
Disclosure: a fee was received for this post but it is a genuine experience in my own words and with my own opinions.
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