Moving house is a great idea until you start packing

After setting up shop in Tatura for the past year, I recently decided that a switch to Shepparton was for me.

It wasn’t as though the little town's charm had become lost on me — far from it, actually.

Bulldog country, Ibisland — whatever you call it, I thought it was pretty all right.

But waxing lyrical about all the halcyon days in Tatura wasn’t going to sway the fact that I needed a change of scenery.

A fresh start with endless possibilities, a completely new lease on life — but.

The big, ugly, hairy, co-ordinating conjunction which follows any singular joyous moment, and in my case, I had it convinced that it would be moving which may signal the death of me.

I’d like to think I put the ‘pro’ in procrastination, so when it came to the big shift it was anything but furniture and appliances which occupied my headspace.

As it loomed closer, memories were cast directly back into 2016 where my first foray outside the comforts of my family home meant a move was on the cards.

Being yanked indelicately from humble country surrounds and dropped into a concrete jungle was enough of a culture shock in itself, without the strain of an impending mass relocation swirling.

A horse float, half a tub of elbow grease and some good old-fashioned ingenuity, of course paired with a helping of headaches, was the gist of the transportation process.

Upon finishing the wretched task of getting everything inside the two-storey behemoth that was to be my new abode, next came the real moving.

Lumping heavy wooden structures up and down stairs, weaving and wiggling around corners gripping mattresses unconvincingly, (Ross from Friends in the iconic ‘pivot’ scene spoke deafening volumes during that stage) before dumping a horde of miscellaneous items in what I recall being a shoebox, rather than a room.

But it was far from finished.

Once realising the bed would have to be manually assembled before my weary head could rest, my previous outside admiration of the concept of IKEA soon went sailing out the window, as did my sanity after several pained hours had left me red faced and wheezing.

All factors considered, half of the stock which had endured the three-and-a-half hour journey from my hometown to Auckland city basically became null and void after about a week, due to the nature of the other eight individuals occupying our giant wooden edifice.

As soon as the curtain was pulled back following the initial foreign exchanges and awkwardness, I soon discovered that all of my flatmates were akin in one particular regard, as was I.

A former male stripper from Leeds turned business development manager, a Mt Isa diesel mechanic with a penchant for New Zealand beer, an American woman who also possessed a proclivity for New Zealand beer (they made a great couple in the end, and are now married), the list goes on.

In short, no one was a true Auckland native — all of us had aspirations borne from afar, all of us had touched down in the city of sails, and all of us had struggled getting oversized objects in and out of the same undersized door frame at one stage or another.

So collectively it brought us together, which meant stripping back the flat to its bare necessities and sharing the basics suited everyone’s vibe — also making a bulk part the moving process unnecessary.

Hence, my decision to streamline the process this time around.

Knowing I no longer had parental figures at my disposal for relocation, it was imperative that I approached the move with a proper plan of attack.

Phase one was stuffing every loose item I owned, which served no place in a drawer, into plastic bags, then using every fibre of my being to cram them into the car.

Next came space management — the strategic decision to opt for a single bed instead of a double, leaving the lion’s share of my inventory at my former residence, I did it all.

Lo and behold, as a product of this inspired lethargy, the move was surprisingly easy — I’d go as far to say it was painless, even.

I actually felt slighted after holding such contempt at the process for so long, but nevertheless I wasn’t complaining because I’m all set, happy as Larry in the new house.

Now, if I could only find that damn remote …

I AM LISTENING TO...

Rock classics. Earthy growls, tasty licks — you name it, the 70s and 80s had it.

Describe anything as verbally satiating as chanting ‘more, more, more’ while Billy Idol slides frantically from fret to fret during Rebel Yell (you can’t).

How about trying to suppress the serotonin levels as the guitar solo kicks in during Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Free Bird while simultaneously shifting into fourth gear (impossible).

Nowadays, the genre is forever submerged in an alternative trench, dipped in indie and smeared across the wall leaving a trail of pop-punk, but despite its modern colourations it will never fill the shadow of traditional rock.

I AM MISSING...

How great test cricket is. Boy it’s good. The form of the game where every delivery is broken down into deliciously meticulous detail, so much so that your brain begins to melt from an avalanche of statistics.

Even the name, ‘test’, beautifully captures the essence of what is playing out before your eyes — because that is exactly what it is. A trial of endurance, a marathon game.

The willow-waving, air punching ecstasy of the batsman’s ton up against the stump-skittling, rapturous holler of a bowler snagging a prized wicket; a melodious melange of action on the oval.

I AM WATCHING...

Seinfeld re-runs. Masterminded by Larry David, my favourite human and the greatest balding cynic to ever grace God’s green earth, this show is perfection.

The Bubble Boy, The Soup Nazi and The Puffy Shirt — all shining examples of quality 1990s sitcom television that keeps backsides on seats for 22 minutes at a time.

George’s gratuitous ranting, Kramer’s zany quirks, Elaine’s witty sass and — Jerry. I have the branded T-shirt, the branded socks — hell, I’d lie limp in my casket wearing a suit emblazoned with the Seinfeld logo if one existed.

I AM THINKING ABOUT...

The future. Looking back over the past decade or two, astonishing advancements have been made in basically every technological and mechanical field since the turn of the millennium (although perhaps not to the level Back to The Future or Blade Runner anticipated).

Thinking ahead to what the next 20 years may hold, what sort of life-changing developments will be brought to the fore?

A portable, cost-effective water filtration device? A shower that reuses its own water? What about inventions that aren’t on the Huffington Post’s ‘11 Simple Inventions That Could Change The World’ — flying cars, self-cleaning hair brushes, bottle humidifiers?

All things considered, I’d be happy enough to see a microwave with a mute option.