Moving house is a massive hassle, we all know that.

But however on it you are with mail redirection, utilities admin and TV package organisation, there's always the chance that an unexpected twist will add further stress to what's already a thoroughly painful process.

For us, this came in the form of the vomiting bug that had been doing the rounds at school.

I was woken at 5am on moving day by a sick child who'd just thrown up on her duvet. The spare covers were in a sealed box, under a stack of other sealed boxes. We improvised with a sheet and a fortunately-still-accessible sick bowl and attempted to grab another hour of sleep.

This being a Wednesday, the said child was looking at 48 unbelievably badly-timed hours off school.

She was fully on form by 9am however, and keen to help with labelling boxes - despite not being safe in charge of a Sharpie at the best of times. Another pair of hands to help the removal team, who mainly seemed to be sitting on our dining chairs on the drive, vaping into their van. Bonus.

As we'd already unplumbed the washing machine, the vomit duvet made the move in its less than fragrant state. And when the second child marked their arrivial in the new house by throwing up in identical circumstances, the sick-soaked bedding mountain was second only to the stacks of 'miscellaneous' boxes in the height stakes.

Add a pet wee on the doormat, a misjudged reverse park onto the new drive resulting in a smashed taillight, and a general sense of packing and unpacking fatigue to the mix and I think you have a sense of how I'm feeling post-move.

Our washing machine knows where I'm coming from. Now it's up and running it keeps stopping every 10 minutes, overwhelmed by the pressure.

On the bright side, our packing endeavours unearthed approximately 300 missing hair bobbles, so it's fair to say it's not all been bad.