My role eased off a bit after that as S got back from work and, well, we'd already moved most of the heaviest stuff, with the exception of an old metal safe that reminded me rather of that episode of Blake's 7 (excuse my unmenky vagueness) where there's a tiny cube of something very dense that has to be jettisoned to lighten the spacecraft and stop its orbit decaying disastrously. Oh wait - maybe it was actually called "Orbit"? I'm sure one of you menks will put me right.
Anyway, via the judicious use of two scaffolding boards, a blue rope, and a broom handle cut into four equal lengths (for use as rollers), we managed to get the safe up a pile of steps and into the lorry.
Sadly the Luton only seats three, which meant only S, M and their Dad (who was the driver) got to go to Kent and there was no room for me. I was obviously disappointed as I would have loved to have done another six hours or so of hard graft at the other end, but I pulled myself together fairly quickly, went home and collapsed in a chair for ten minutes while I decided if there was anything really that important that needed doing yet, like switching on the TV. Eventually I managed to stand up and get on with my day.
On Sunday I developed a bit of a sore back and a highly entertaining collection of bruises. But, hey. It's nice to be useful, isn't it?