The snowball that is our move to Russia has started to gather speed - mainly because, as Husband pointed out last weekend, we will probably need to be out of our flat in around 8 weeks.
It's at this point that my 'laissez-faire cosmopolitan it'll-be-alright-on-the-night' attitude starts to get a little frayed around the edges. How did we go from 'oh, there's plenty of time, la la laaaa, I'll do a cupboard a week, and before we know it everything will be brand spanking ready to go' at the beginning of term to the beginnings of 'blind panic! which-way-is-up?' confusion, in one easy move?
We made a list this weekend, of all the things that need to be sorted. Correction; since Husband is working in Russia every hour god sends, all the things that I need to sort. It wasn't too scary to begin with, but as with every list about moving, you blink and suddenly somebody has snuck into your handbag, kidnapped the list, and added another 40 tasks to the bottom of it.
This morning, for example, from out of nowhere, 'get scratches on car door fixed' appeared after a particularly hairy school run.
I don't really.............