It's funny how you can plan something for a long time, fully expecting it to happen, but when it does, it comes as a complete shock.

I have known since January that Anna and I would be moving to separate places, but a few things happened in the last few days that have made it actually REAL, and it makes my tummy go a bit funny.

Yesterday I went to my last morning service at church in Wimbledon. I've known that that day would come, but actually, that really does mean that I don't go to that church anymore. It feels like I've left my family behind, and in a way I guess I have.

Yesterday I also started putting my belongings into boxes. That means I won't live here anymore. In some ways that delights me, because this flat is an ancient icebox and something falls off into my hands virtually everytime I switch on a light or open a door. I also got an electricity bill this morning for £774.14 and the house is STILL freezing! I won't miss that...

But I will miss Anna. We realised that from Thursday of this week, we won't live together anymore. After nine and a half years. That's a long time! That's longer than I've been able to drive. That's longer than mobile phones have been in common use. That's longer than Labour have been in government. That's longer than I have known the Lord.

I can't get my little brain around it and it's making me a little bit weepy. I'm a little bit frightened if I'm honest. I can't imagine not living with the person who first told me the gospel, first read the Bible with me, watched me struggle and fail to fit into the Christian mould, played endless games of monopoly with me instead of studying for our degrees, danced to dreadful cheesy music every Wednesday night at Uni, followed the careers of the Spice Girls and mourned with me on the day when Geri made 'that announcement', made me laugh so much I vomited, invited me into the UCCF family, sang me weird lullabies about bleeding horses (!), spontaneously danced toLatin music while our dinners got cold, moaned at me for my incurable messiness, sang tuneless duets from musicals, wearily humoured my stubborn belief that my soft toys are really my children, shared a takeaway (2 chicken kormas, pilau rice, peshwari naan and cheap white wine) and a DVD after every conference (and there have been MANY), shared a fish & chips dinner after every job or promotion, told me excitedly about sporting victories that mean nothing whatsoever to me, ridden to hospital in the middle of the night, grunted in the morning before the caffeine kicked in, seen the worst of my sin and selfishness and put up with it all the same, stuck by me while I made a mess of my life, saw me discover real joy when I picked myself up again, and reminded me when I needed to know it, that the gospel she first told me, is still true.

OK, I'm not 'a little bit weepy' anymore, I have snot all over my face and have got through half a toilet roll.