I’m sitting with my laptop perched on my knees, surrounded by boxes, chaos, unlabelled children, dismantled furniture, freezer bags of screws and hex keys. We’re moving house.
There’s a curious combination of chaos and order that characterises the well-planned improvised packing procedures of a family of mixed star-signs and divergent approaches to self-nurture. All around are boxes: of books, knick-knacks, kitchenware, miscellaneous electrical items – some of which will never work again and some that are vital to a family that has become device-dependent.
As the boxes fill, the four ...
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