Moving day arrived. We watched in amusement as the large removal van valiantly struggled to reverse up the steep road that leads to Tepe Houses. If at first you don’t succeed try, try again. And try, try our brave boys did. An hour of fevered debate, frantic gesticulation and trial and ample error later, the van finally made it onto the flat. Guided by four rowdy lads competing for attention the van gingerly manoeuvred backwards along the narrow access lane. Alas, a sharp bend was a bridge too far and the van became stubbornly stuck 50 metres from the house. Undeterred, our sweaty removers professionally stripped our house in record time, re-flatpacking our IKEA furniture, hand wrapping our knick-knacks and covering our delicates in protective blankets. The sight of a slight built young man hauling our fridge-freezer strapped to his back left us speechless. He returned to collect the washing machine. He’ll probably be crippled by the time he’s 40.
We moved from room to room saying our goodbyes in time honoured fashion and closed the door on Tepe House for the last time. Tariq the Toothed caretaker turned up to say farewell. He delivered one of his now infamous rib crushing bear hugs, picked me up and twirled me around. I swear I spotted a small tear in the corner of his eye.