... the cupboard was bare.

OK, so not a cupboard, exactly. Or at all, in fact. But for the last year these shelves have held my eclectic collection of mugs, odds and sods of glassware, and a load of chipped plates and bowls that my first wife and I bought on a trip to Glasgow in, I think, 1998, when we went to see the House For An Art Lover, designed by Charles Rennie Mackintosh.

But now all those things are boxed up and the kitchen suddenly seems less homely, more stark and functional. Packing up has pulled the plug on that intangible 'home' and my sense of belonging has begun to drain away: this no longer feels quite like my place but more like a building that I've lived in.

And I've realised that the last night that I slept in the cottage as my home was the night before I started packing.