I am now lounging luxuriously in my friend Ruth’s sitting room, full of salmon and roasted cauliflower and pinot grigio.

The house is empty and clean, well ahead of the deadline.

When the truck was pulling away, the boss cleaner informed me that the movers had neglected to pack the kitchen cutlery, and the microwave — sans turntable — had also been left behind. So the microwave and the cutlery have been added to the contents of my car. I’ll just rattle down the road out of Perth County.

Tomorrow, I have some legal stuff to tend to, and I must hand in my post box keys. Yes, Stilly, I don’t own my modem; renting is the norm in Canada.

Despite the efficiency and good will of the various professionals engaged, this whole experience has been exhausting beyond belief.