I had ten hours sleep last night. I am still so tired that I almost feel sick. However the extent to which I like my new house can probably be gauged by the fact that even though I spent Saturday morning moving, locked myself out immediately afterwards and had to do an emergency dash to the agent before they closed, in the rain, without a coat or jumper, that I spent most of Saturday afternoon and all Sunday cleaning (listening to the cricket) and that my arms ache from it, that I woke up at four yesterday and had my meeting from hell in the afternoon (which went amazingly well, being one of those things when if it works, it just seems ordinary, but if it doesn’t it is obvious you’ve messed things up), and spent two and a half hours in the IT centre last night having malware cleaned off my computer (helped by the fact that one of the help desk people had had the same problem at the weekend) I am still in a good mood.
Oh, and the removal man who put my clothes back in the wardrobe revealed an unsuspected artistic side when I opened the doors to find things organised by colour.
I only have to survive another three and a half days at work before I go on holiday on Sunday. Quite how I'm going to survive the holiday is less clear. Possibly by not getting out of bed on Saturday, assuming I succeed in putting the bed together (it arrives tonight).