![]() ![]() Not the conversation I’d bargained for, Zoe spoke excitedly about having swapped white picket fences of Wiltshire for a new swish private members’ club in central London, one with dark velvety bedrooms and soft lighting. Trying not to assume the patronising tone of someone who’s survived the war she’s fighting, when she rang the other day I pulled up a kitchen chair, fully expecting to spend the next hour doling out helpful advice in hushed tones. Having lived through the Aftermath and survived to tell the tale (miracle), I am her self-appointed, trusted, divorce mentor. Getting drunk on Mondays, sleeping with inappropriate people on Tuesdays, joining all the dating apps on Wednesdays, and ending up in expensive hotel rooms with exciting but psychotic men (preferably narcissists!) on Thursdays – the Aftermath is essentially Craig David (google his hits) on acid. This describes the one-year period post leaving a marriage, a mad time when you go balls-to-the-wall berserk. Zoe is freshly single and has just entered the phase I term the “Aftermath”. “But I have nothing to wear,” I replied, before saying “yes” precisely one second later. “Fancy coming to Torture Garden with me?” said my close friend Zoe. It was all going so well, until my phone rang at 4pm on Saturday. I’d even booked parking bays at both properties. ![]() If there’s one thing you learn when packing up home for the third time in two years, it’s a) how to book the right removal company, and b) how to order the correct packing equipment. “This is going to be the easiest move of my life,” I thought. Pans were packed with easy access, the fridge was cleaned until it sparkled, the oven shone, the glassware took on the appearance of Tiffany diamonds. Cutlery was buffed with a clean cloth, boxed and neatly labelled. I’d spent the day before fluffing around the house, emptying cupboards of old spice jars and organising everything on the ground floor with military precision. “Yes, we saw the outfit you were wearing as you stumbled out of a cab at 8am.” Oh, the shame. “Um, well, I think so,” I replied, unsure if I could even remember my own name. “Are you OK?” my neighbour from the left asked, stifling a giggle. I drank both and was escorted to a nearby garden chair. ![]() I staggered out of my front door wearing huge black Saint Laurent sunglasses and a white jumpsuit, looking like I’d just joined a cult. What’s worse, I hadn’t packed, and the removal van was due to arrive at 8am the following day. “I’m so sorry,” I croaked, like a deranged Rip Van Winkle, having slept all day. “Oh my God, Stacey, we were about to call the police!” She’d climbed out of her daughter’s bedroom window and onto the roof of our four-storey building to knock on my window the entire mews had been gathered since 4pm for the leaving party I’d invited them all to. I looked up to find my neighbour perched on my window sill with her head beneath my blind. Originally from Mumbai, the distinctive voice of my neighbour’s joyful intonation filled my bedroom at around 5pm on Sunday. Sleeping beauty ain’t got a patch on me – just ask my poor next-door neighbour. Except, little did I know I wouldn’t wake up in time to pack. I felt fine on Saturday, cheerily packing boxes, dreamily sifting through 18 months worth of kids’ drawings and various pots of paint and boxes of crayons, leaving the difficult stuff to the following day. Collecting the remainder of my belongings from the only house I’ve called home was never going to be easy. Yes, it was emotional, as is to be expected when you pack up your life for the third time in two years. All Users of the Websites are therefore cautioned and advised to use their own judgment to evaluate all advertisements and other communications available at or through the use of the Websites prior to purchasing goods and/or services described at the Websites or otherwise responding to any communication at the Websites.Moving again last weekend was grimmer than I’d ever imagined it to be, but not for reasons you might think. You further acknowledge that You understand that other than as set forth herein, we do not screen, endorse, monitor, control, investigate, supervise any advertisements or communications submitted to the Websites by third-party licensees, advertisers, or Users for electronic dissemination through the Websites. ![]() You further acknowledge and agree that other than as set forth herein, the Websites do not screen any Users or Advertisers of the Websites, has no control over their actions and makes no representations or warranties with respect to the character, veracity, age, health or any other attribute of Users of the Websites, including any person who places Advertisements in the Websites. ![]()
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