We discovered things we’d never thought of: for example, big houses with high ceilings have big cupboards high up the walls.  If, like me, you’re more Ronnie Corbett than John Cleese (to whom Eeyore’s resemblance is more than passing, and not only physical), putting stuff away in them was almost as difficult as getting it out again.  Enter No1, who shot up ladders all over the place with the enthusiasm and energy of your average eight year old boy.  Competitive to her core, No2 quickly became very adept at filling cupboards under sinks – usually with whatever was to hand, regardless of what that was – and I sat on a stool in the hall in what moving air there was like a vast eminence grise, looking at the view through the open doors and telling people what went where.  Or ‘bossing’, as they called it: rather unfair that, I felt.  More like ‘playing to my strengths’.  Nonetheless, nobody would have said, at the end of that first fortnight when Eeyore left for London, that we had done anything more than lightly dusted the surface of the gargantuan task of moving in. 


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