We are at Water Street for the final cleaning. We still have two weeks of tenancy, but now we live firmly at Old School Lane, so this nice little house where we have spent nine happy months is suddenly strange and foreign. When empty, it seems, paradoxically, smaller than when it was overcrowded with furniture. I cannot imagine how Staffan's desk could be squeezed into the tiny room.
The cleaning process feels vaguely familiar. Not only from the old country, but also from San Diego where we left the house in much better condition than we found it. Here I have finally got round to cleaning some corners I intended to clean from start but never got to it. I don't want whoever will live here in the fuure to curse me.
Yet we are not cutting the bands yet. Our phone and internet account will not be moved until next week.