And I was 44 when I moved out in the summer of 2011.
Photographic evidence would seem to indicate that my grandmother (now 95) and my (then soon-to-be) wife were present on both occasions. Evidence also indicates that my haircuts and fashion sense have improved but a little if at all in the meantime.
On this obviously memorable occasion I am inclined to forego nostalgia and flowery talk about days-gone-by.
Suffice to say: it was a fine little house, generally filled with love and happiness, within which we truly became a Family. It was good to us in that it kept us warm and safe and dry, as all good houses should.
We hope the same will be true for its new inhabitants.