Oh, my van is packed...

...I'm ready to go. I'm standing here outside the door...

This was weird. Palmside Street became a bolt-hole for us. A place to be together, a place to occupy our hands and minds each weekend before I'd drive The Lovely Ange to the airport for the hundreth time. If everything is uncertain, then you only really need one place that's quiet and still to stop losing your freaking mind.

Now it's sold and in two days time it won't be ours anymore. So I've got all our crap in one sock. plus in a van, plus in a container, that's waiting for some guy in Canada to decide we're not psycho's and grant us a visa. Come on mate, rubber-stamp that puppy.

This was the last time I ever closed that garage door; five minutes later I was driving down the road to Dunedin, to The Lovely Ange, and to whatever else lies ahead.

Click.