Moving Day

It's amazing how you only realise how much stuff you have when you come to move house. As I gathered all my belongings together, ready to load them into the back of my moving van, I was reminded of something I once heard that houses are merely vessels where people keep their stuff, and that the only reason they move to a bigger house is because they have got too much stuff. Of course, this does not apply to me, as I am moving to a slightly smaller house but which has more land. I don't have too much stuff; it is animals which are my weakness, I'm afraid. Hence the need for more land.
Anyway, as I sit here now with the radio on (my TV is still at my old house) I am feeling ever so slightly emotional. For although this house is lovely, a thousand memories are wrapped up in my old house. Joyous celebrations, cruel disappointments, births and deaths. Three of my cats were born in this house; sitting on the floor of my bedroom with Twinkle (their mother) from the time she went into labour (around 10.30pm) until 6.30 the next morning. Good job I did too, as the first kitten was born breech and his head was stuck. I had to help pull him out.
My hand-raised Zebra Finch was born and died here too. Sadly his mother died when he was just a couple of days old and the father abandoned the nest. So I hand-fed him, every two hours day and night for two weeks and then every three hours for another two weeks. Step by step until he could feed on his own. Then I taught him to fly. I really did! He had no other birds to learn from and so I began with letting him jump from one of my fingers to another, gradually moving them further and further apart until he could fly thr width of my outstretched arms. Then I increased the distance little by little until he could fly properly. Even was in the aviary, he would always come to me. He lived for four years until he died, as he had lived, in my hands. 
I signed my first contract with a literary agent in the dining room. A brilliant day. I was so thrilled that someone believed in me enough to want to represent my work. Now though, I'm not so sure he is actually doing anything for me, but that's another story.
Of course, there are hundreds more memories I could mention, but I won't. Some things need to stay sacred, I guess.
Now all I have to figure out is which box I put my kettle in. Honestly, my throat is as dry as an Arab's sandal. Desperately need a nice cup of Earl Grey!

My World Trip

On a sunny Thursday in May, as I sit here with a cup of coffee, completely stuffed up with a cold, I find myself daydreaming and planning my dream motorbike tour. In this dream I travel first to Dover where I get the ferry to Calais. From there I ride through France and Germany, across into Poland and Belarus before heading into Russia. I then ride down through Russia, into Kazakhstan, Kyrgyztan and Tajikistan, and then on into Pakistan and India. I then go across India into Bangladesh and then up into Bhutan and on into China. It's then down again through China and into Laos, Thailand and through to Malaysia. Finally I island-hop as far as I can in Indonesia, and if possible, get a boat to Australia. What do you think?
All I have to figure out now is how I get my bike home again...Why, I ride back the way I came, of course!