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.
Some of this year's multicoloured crop: Salad Blue, Highland Burgundy Red and Aura
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.
The following is the content of a letter to be opened in the event of my arrest and possible conviction for the (admittedly difficult to comprehend and almost unpardonable) offence of, er, smuggling seed potatoes into Ireland…
In which I plead my case for clemency and understanding.
I, The Daily Spud, do freely and of my own volition, admit that on Sunday last, the 24th of January 2010, I undertook to travel to the UK for the express purpose of acquiring seed potatoes to bring back to Ireland, knowing full well that, in the eyes of the nation, this is tantamount to an act of horticultural, if not national, treason.
I say seed potatoes, you say contraband