At the beginning of this month, on my way to the airport (everything is about multitasking and combining two things these days) I stopped by the city flat to take down the last lamps and to leave the keys there for the new owners. Moving out is always a little sad, and even more so if you've lived in the house/flat for some time and put a lot of memories and heart into it. I think this was one of the hardest moves, as I have been around this flat since birth. The absolute worst move at the tie was then I was  four and we moved away from the first home I'd ever known. (Which happens to be across the park from this one.) I missed it terribly, and some months later my grandfather took me to the building so we could go up with the familiar elevator and look at my old door. He showed me there was a new name on the door, and told me there were new people living there now. I remember being very sad that we could not go in and look at "my home" because surely they would have understood.
This is the flat I bought Dag home to first, and it's Eddi's and my first mutual home. It was the first home I was able to decorate and renovate totally as I wanted to, (with my mint green Smeg for example that I took with me now that we moved). This was also the place I had my first "job" at; I used to clean at my grandmother's as a teenager for pocket money, so I really knew every corner in and out. As a child my grandparents would watch me when my mother was at work, a...