Tis the seasons to be jolly, tis also the season to move house. Having been a youth leader for a few years, I've acclimatized to getting couches and fridges (and anything else the Edge leaders leave lying around) through doorways.
Our move happened a few months ago, this time it was a friend... who specifically said I wasn't allowed to write a blog about this... Not sure why. But to honour the friendship I will leave only vague clues.An unexpected member of our amateur (only in remuneration) moving crew was friend X's new landlord. What a legend, apparently an ex-Headmaster. He quickly slipped into the mould of delegating tasks to teenagers, and while initially irritating, you can't fault a dude who spent his productive years in that position. He also arrived with a handy trolley and enough rope to tie up an over-weight Mammoth.
As a guy, moving house comes with its own anxieties; a time when your knot-tying skills are put on show. It can be an ego-boosting affair, or a bit of a downer, depending on the number of helpers with an agricultural background. I enjoyed success at first, but had my ass handed to me on a plate after my granny knot was dismissed in favour of something more appropriate.
