Moving house would have been quick and easy if I wasn't so sentimental. I came here with just two wee suitcases, but now I have those same two wee suitcases plus eleven boxes chock full of "mementos". I like to sift through this magpies nest and let random objects trigger memories, rather than having to remember things with my actual brain. So in lieu of packing, I spent Saturday sniffling and blubbering over two years of Scottish detritus. The wrapper from my first Tunnocks Tea Cake. A tiny lump of Icelandic volcano. Twenty-two boarding passes from our travels. A Durex wrapper from a Particularly Good Shag. A handwritten sign, SHAUNA AND RHIANNON'S FOOD CUPBOARD: KEEP OUT! And what a crying shame to be parting company with my treasured flatmates, what with their radioactive cheese in the fridge, penchant for playing The Best of Elton John at midnight; their rainbow of pubes on the bathroom floor. I haven't bothered to actually tell them I'm leaving, but maybe I'll reminisce as I waltz out the door, "Remember when you brought that guy home from the pub and your fake orgasm sounded like a cow being slaughtered?". Or, "Remember the time I peed on your bra?". Yesterday I woke up and thought, This is the last day on my own. Tomorrow it's off to the marital home. What would you if you had just 24 hours left as a single person? Take yourself out for lunch? Go clubbing? Bungee jump? Furiously masturbate, all day long? Well I chose to go the gym, scramble some eggs then arrange my boarding pass collection in chronological order. I was a thrillseeker right to the end!