I doubt that many people actually like the process of packing up and moving house.
There are so many things that you must remember to pack. Like your toothbrush. And your spuds.
Although, to be fair, when one has a potato-obsessed brain and some unusual red, blue and purple potatoes to match, they become a little less hard to forget.
So it is that I find myself in the midst of such a move, between two houses, minus one garden, operating with half a kitchen and a bag of spuds.
And no toothbrush.
It could be worse. I might have no spuds.