Packing up

It's now my last weekend in the North, and the end really is in sight. Packing has begun, and even though I have relatively few possessions here, I still have a whole bunch of stuff that I've hardly ever or in some cases, never, used. I came here with 18 boxes, and if I were to do it all again I could probably halve that number and still live relatively comfortably. When I get home next week I'm going to be going through the whole process again as we prepare for our major southern move - more on that in the days and weeks to come - and it's for that reason that I'm not quite as hyped about leaving as I might be otherwise.

I hate moving, or at least the packing side of things, and the fact that we've done it so often over the course of the past decade hasn't made me alter my opinion in any way. I make it that I've been involved in eleven moves over the course of the last ten years, including one inter-continental move and several excursions to, from and around Nunavik, but hopefully this will be it for the foreseeable future. Frank Sinatra used to sing that it was nice to go travelling but so much nicer to come home and I tend to agree, but I bet he never had to pack. Mafia connections most certainly have their perks; two men, a van and a horse's head...

In other news, it's James' birthday tomorrow, and as Sundays aren't the best days for parties he and Sophie are hosting a potluck tonight. I'm making spaghetti and sauce (how original), and in true Keith Floyd style there will be plenty of liquid stimulation on hand during the process as, in the initial stages of packing, I found a bottle and a half of rum plus some pina colada mixer that I forgot I had. My spaghetti's going to be awesome...

Houses and history

A diplomatic incident was avoided when the Canadian protests over Amy Williams' helmet thankfully came to naught, and this is all just as well as we may have bought a house yesterday! We've been thinking about a move for some time now, and Melanie has looked at umpteen properties over the last few months without finding anything that ticked enough boxes to proceed with any intent.

However, she found something last week and as of yesterday it looks as though our offer has been accepted. Much water has to pass under the bridge before everything is finalised, but it could be that we will be ready to move just a few days after I return home in May, which will also be the first time that I actually get to see the house in person! Melanie has sent me a whole bunch of photos and I trust her judgment implicitly though, which is a good job as it will be too late for a change of mind by then!

Should the move go through, we will be living in the same area just outside of Kingston where John Babcock was born over a century ago. You may not know the name John Babcock, but he was Canada's last surviving veteran of World War I and earlier this week he passed away at the age of 109. Babcock lied about his age in order to enlist in 1916, and whilst he never actually saw active service he was nonetheless prepared to give his all for his country, and his passing leaves Claude Choules and Frank Buckles as the last remaining survivors of those who fought in the Great War.

As I commented back in 2008, the First World War will very soon no longer be in 'living memory'; such thoughts put protests over helmets and hunting for houses into perspective, don't they?