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Three weeks ago we moved in to our new house in Springs 2. I had been dreading it for the last year. Of course the reality didn’t match my imagination-fuelled nightmares involving – variously – having the movers turn up and realizing I’m naked; wanton desecration of my priceless set of vintage mismatched mugs; and being surrounded by several thousand boxes and knowing my passport is in ONE of them.

Andrew took the day off work and we booked the movers for 10am. Six men turned up and swarmed about our apartment, pouncing and wrapping everything in acres of paper, bubble wrap and packing tape.

At one point Andrew made the mistake of remaining stationary for 30 seconds and they had him taped up to the knees before we even noticed.

We couldn’t believe the number of boxes produced by our one-bedroom apartment – not to mention hairballs. I was mortified by the thriving follicular subculture revealed by the removal of beds and sofas. Personally I didn’t think two people were capable of such abundant molting – albeit over the course of six years – and we don’t even have a dog to blame it on.

Speaking of which, I’ve been trying to talk Andrew into getting a pet but have been met with stubborn resistance. I guess my cause isn’t helped by the fact that Andrew breaks into a rash of snot within five paces of a canine or feline friend.

Andrew argues that it is not fair to keep a dog in Dubai. It might sound like a reasonable point, but then it’s hardly humane to keep PEOPLE in this country.

Anyhow, the other day I had a breakthrough when Andrew agreed to a pet beetle. I lovingly tended Bob The Beetle, feeding him lettuce and taking him for walks. Bob lived with us for many gloriously happy hours before he abandoned us in favour of our neighbour, who presumably feeds him better food. If I ever come across the ungrateful insect I’ll be sure to give him a good stepping on.

Having demonstrated my sense of responsibility, I’m hopeful of persuading Andrew into keeping a mouse next

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