"Ok, so everything goes," my dad says pointing to the garage as he starts the engine of the Volvo ready to go anywhere that isn't somewhere where someone is moving heavy goods "the fridge, the sofa, the washing machine, the little bed, the big bed and the flat packed wardrobe."

"What? We're not taking the kitchen sink?" I ask in a sardonic manner. Of course, what I didn't realise is that there actually was a kitchen sink in the garage and my mother's refusal to let him take it to the tip on August Bank Holiday (because "it may come in handy") and the subsequent argument was the reason he had to watch "Ann Maurice: Interior Rivalry" in the bedroom rather than the living room.

We load the van but only manage to get 3/4 of the stuff in. This will need two trips. "We're gonna need a bigger boat!" I say making a cute pop culture reference. My Little Sister and My Canadian Girlfriend groan and slam the doors of a car and a van, respectively. And we drive to Hull stopping only once to get coffee, served by a girl that was one turkey twizler short of a Jamie Oliver school dinner.

We unload the sofa. "This is quite cool, I'm the one that is moving, yet I don't seem to be doing any of the work!" My Little Sister says as she arranges the cushions on the reclining chair. My Canadian Girlfriend and I begin to wilt under the weight of the sofa. My Little Sister plugs the TV in.

"Usually when you say that you start carrying stuff." I whisper to My Canadian Girlfried as we walk out of the house to fetch the little bed and My Little Sister sits down to catch the start of the England Game.

The trip back to Manchester is more exciting. And by exciting I mean edge of the seat nearly shitting yourself scary. And by edge of the seat nearly shitting yourself scary I mean could at any moment plunge to a firey flamey doom off the side of the motorway.

I have seen rain before and I have seen heavy rain before and I have driven in heavy rain before. But I have never been so terrified behind the wheel as I was crossing the highest point on the M62 at Saddleworth Moor. Visability was low and conditions were bad, so bad in fact that when cars decided to tailgate me I didn't even slam on the brakes to test them and see if they were paying attenion. The four anti-travel sickness pills My Canadian Girlfriend had taken began to kick in and she difts off into a drug enduced haze.

I clung to the wheel, closed my eyes and prayed. For the first time in my life, I was happy to see Prestwich. We were nearly home. Having survived the rain and filled the tank up with diesel, we go to load up.

"There's no way we can move the fridge." I say.

After much weighing up of the odds, the pros and cons and the fridge, we tentatively lift it. "This isn't bad" My Canadian Girlfriend says. I smile and nod as the metal edge digs further into my hands. The doors of the fridge fall open. "Let's lift it the other way round" she says. I'm just glad to put it down. Eventually we reach the van and slide the fridge in.

"There's no way we can move the washing machine." she says moving the dead hanging basket off the top of it. I agree.

Back to Hull. "So what would you do with her House?" my Canadian Girlfriend asks.

"Oooh, glad you asked. Is there any chance I could record the voice over in six months after the redevelopment like Sarah Beeney does so I always look like I get stuff right?" I reply

"No"

"What about doing two takes where I say one thing and then say the exact opposite and we'll keep whichever proves to be exactly what the estate agent says. That way I make myself look like a smug know-it-all?"

"No"

"Right well I'd move the bathoom upstairs but you'd still have to retain two good sized bedrooms. And I'd turn what used to the be the bathroom into a study and throw a futon in there so you've got a room that could be used for guests. Although in Hull - just having an inside toilet adds value so there may be no need to move the bathroom. Just a lick of paint and turn it around quick sharp."

We reach Hull and unload the big matress. We get it half way up the stairs. "What if we do this?" I say to My Canadian Girlfriend making a wiggly movement with my hand.

"I'd rather do that." she replies making a slightly different bendy movement. "But we can do it your way." We do it my way and it gets stuck. "Wanna do it my way?" she asks and the matress slides into the bedroom with the minimum of effort. I suppose that this explains why I sleep on the left hand side of the bed, because even in her sleep she's always right.

We collapse in a heap, back in the van. 2 hours more driving to do and we'll be home just after midnight. On the plus side, I get to "lie in" until 7:30am so I can get up in time to take the van back.

And I don't care what Morgan Spurlock says, there is a time and a place for McDonalds and it's 10pm in Hull after a day of moving.