Part of the stress of moving is making decisions about culling things you definitely no longer need but aren’t sure you can bear to part with.

At the moment, this rollercoaster of pure fun is my life.

I write this from the house move coalface, surrounded by boxes of eBay-ed items awaiting courier collection and stacks of miscellaneous clothes and kitchen stuff set for the next charity shop run.

On top of this general hassle-fest is the struggle to come to terms with leaving a place I love - especially when the next step is a stop-gap rental that's half the size.

This is definitely the most emotional move I've faced. We rented out the only other house we've ever owned to move overseas, and when the time came to sell there was (almost) no emotional connection left.

This feels different. After almost eight years it's the longest I've lived anywhere since leaving my parents' place in the '90s.

I keep looking at my house like it's terminally ill, knowing we've only got a few weeks left to spend together. Sounds slightly dramatic/ridiculous, but I've always had a problem with getting attached to inanimate objects, hence my massive issue with decluttering. Moving house is hard.

Ultimately it will all be worth it I'm sure, and given the sluggish state of the local market I know I should be glad to have a sale in place rather than moaning (again) about not having found anywhere to buy.

And it's definitely not all bad: an old travel cot we'd forgotten we owned sold for £56 on eBay and some headphones I won in a raffle five years ago and had never taken out of the box fetched £21. So that'll take the edge off the £2,000 removal quote...