So the headline in today's newspaper could have read.
But then today was a caps kind of day where every sentence felt as though it should have been book-ended by an exclamation mark.
The moment I'd been waiting 10 weeks for finally arrived when six overstuffed boxes trundled down the M4 from Croydon and arrived on my doorstep.
I was so excited I woke up at time when most people were still hours from their first latte. As the useless moving company (tip: never, ever use Britannia Movers) wouldn’t give me an estimated delivery time, I had to drag myself into work. Trying to edit complex financial documents, never riveting at the best of times, did little to still my excited mind. Has there ever been a woman less drawn to the notion of patience?
I even braved the dodgy showers and went for a lunchtime run to try and calm my nervous energy. Did it help? Did it heck; I spent the rest of the day trying to focus my Jedi powers on making the hands of the clock spin faster.
But at 3.00pm, I got the call that the truck was nearing Bristol and I felt a strange sensation in my face - I began to smile. And I didn't stop smiling for the rest of the day as I reacquainted myself with my beloved possessions.
The best thing was unpacking clothes I had forgotten about (stand up red frilly top from Sydney), the worst seeing what damage bad packing and weeks of being shunted from one side of the globe to the other can do (take a bow cream coat from Hong Kong). I console myself with the fact that it's nothing an appointment with the iron can't fix.
Friends tell me having all my 'stuff' around me will help me feel more settled and I'd bet the rent money on them being right. For now though, I'm just happy that the system actually worked and everything arrived in one piece.
Today was, to borrow a concept from Tina Turner, simply the best.