Limboland

I’m sitting in a motorway service station on the M4. Reading to be precise, on my way to Gatwick to deliver our car to the place where the people who are buying it will pick it up from. I’ll then pick up a hire car and return back to my temporary home. At least, it’s my temporary home for the next two nights, before we move to another temporary home. Welcome to limboland.

This is the place where you stay but you don’t live. Your bed is not your bed, your car is not your car. Everything feels slightly off kilter, and it’s hard to really relax.

In exactly one week’s time we will be stepping off the plane into our new lives. We’ve been waiting a year for this moment and yet, at the moment, it still feels as far away as Mars. Life feels suspended as we stutter through these last days, neither here nor there. The children, better at living in the present than us adults, seem to be coping well. My youngest did, however, feel the need to question granny yesterday about where she lived. At the moment, that’s a very good question!

And so I’ve finished my coffee and on to the next part of my journey. Hopefully next time I stop I’ll be at Gatwick, and another step closer to my final destination. Just one more week to go!