It's official - I live in Brighton. And this is the view through my two-foot-wide front door and into my state-of-the-art des-res. (That's seven hyphens and I'm only two sentences into this post). I'd like to think the boxes are only a temporary feature, but that hinges on me finding somewhere to put their contents, which at the moment is looking a bit iffy. But on the bright side, my new Cosy Cream carpet looks nice. The twelve inches of it you can see, anyway.

As for the move itself, I think on balance it was pretty much a living hell. But a hell populated by angels - namely my brother and parents, without whom etc, etc. I may have to consider stretching to a thank you card.

Anyhoo, things started well enough on Friday evening, when we found that my beautiful £350 wardrobe, which is basically worth more than my car, wouldn't fit through my bedroom door and had to be hacked to pieces with a hammer. I think, for me, that was the highlight. Although at that point of course, I was still unaware that I'd left most of my bedding in the airing cupboard.

But by 11pm on Friday night we were able to look with satisfaction at a fully loaded removal van. And then wonder why half my stuff was still in the flat. But hey, why hire a van for a weekend if you only plan on making one trip, that's what I say. And it's only 140 miles to Brighton. So we set off at 11:15pm for my parents' house in Chelmsford, my brother enjoying the role of 'white van man' by cutting up everyone on the road, while I considered what the chances were of me winning the lottery the next day, and moving straight into a bigger flat. Zero, as it turned out.

A night (well, a five hours) in Essex, and it was off down to Brighton. We were joined by my sister-in-law and niece, both enthusiastic and keen to help. I responded gratefully by getting one to carry some boxes, and sending Lisa out for the day with the other. Unfortunately for Lisa, she got my niece. But it did mean she was able to broker the first ever meeting between my niece and her nephew, who at seven-and-a-quarter is just one month older, and therefore perfect marriage material. They spent their first date eating pizza and talking about Doctor Who, which is spookily reminiscent of the first time Lisa and I met. Apart from the Doctor Who bit.

Anyway, I spent Sunday discovering that my shower doesn't work, and unpacking my printer to find that the ink had leaked everywhere. Which is what happens when you don't take the cartridges out before you move house. So I spent Monday having a bath and going to PC World for a new printer. In between all of that, I've been unpacking, sorting, and attempting to put together a simple guitar stand in under two hours. I also decided, in the light of the fact that I can barely move, I have stuff stacked to the ceiling, and a simple trip to the kitchen is like a major mountaineering adventure, that I really don't have enough furniture. So I went to Argos for some more.

My Mummy also bought me a new stereo as an early birthday present. And if I could get across the room to plug it in, I'd tell you what it's like.

So basically the whole thing's been stressful, unsettling, and enough to push me over the edge into madness. But hey, at least I'm now with Lisa. Of course, she can't actually stay the night, because I don't have any pillowcases and you can barely get to the bed, but she's waved to me from the hallway, which is nice. Another couple of days and we might be able to hold hands.