After having lived for two months out of a suitcase (literally) I am going to be finally moving into my flat this Friday. Heavenly assistance in this dreaded task - don't they say that moving house is only second to bereavement in terms of stress suffered? - comes in the svelte form of my friend, E., my most glamorous assistant. Our prep sessions for the move have shown me up for what I really am - a useless co-ordinator in terms of logistics.

E.: " Have you thought about painting the flat before you move in? There are marks on the wall."
Me: "Er, yeah. Painting it would be cool... (silence). How do we do that?"
E.: "I'll call the estate agent and ask her who she usually uses. Have you thought about when you will buy the furniture? You should buy it this week so that it is delivered after they finish painting the flat."
Me: "Er, yeah. But it would take a long while for them to deliver the furniture, wouldn't it?"
E.: "Yes. A couple of days, not on the day."
Me: " (dumbstruck silence, then manic laughter).... I see. I was thinking more in terms of several weeks. But that's good."
E.: "You need to find somewhere to stay while they paint the flat. Do you have anyone you can stay with?"
Me: "Er, yeah. I need to ask them."
E: "You should ask the landlady for a reduction in the rent."
Me: "Should I?"
E: "Yes. I'll think about the level. You should get a maid in for the day for the move."
Me: "Yes, I suppose so."
E.: "We can go shopping now. You need to make sure you at least have a sofa to sleep on when you move in."

So we trotted off to IKEA and in thirty minutes (before closing time) E. had the bed, sofa and wardrobe sorted out by efficiently bullying the staff into action - at a discount, with free assembly and promised delivery at a precise time and date. All I had to do was choose the colour (with her approval, of course) and sign on the dotted line.

Thank God for E.