The house we finally let go of in Robina

I'm in Robina, and I'll be honest: I put this off for far too long. We'd been in the house for twenty-two years and raised three kids there. When we decided to downsize, I walked through it with a notepad and gave up by the second bedroom.

There were two lounges, a dining setting for ten, a piano with a cracked soundboard and a garage stacked with paint tins, old bikes and a chest freezer that hadn't worked since the 2011 floods.

Robina is a planned suburb of townhouse complexes, medical precincts and retail centres, and getting things out isn't always simple. Visitor bays and shared driveways need short-stay loading.

I half expected to be put on hold, but it was the bloke who'd actually be doing the job. He asked about stairs and parking, which made me think he'd done this a few times.

Two of them turned up right on time in a tipper truck. Before they lifted anything, they walked the route from the pile to the truck and pointed out a couple of spots where they'd put down protection.

The piano was the thing I was dreading. It had to come down four steps at the front, and I'd already had one removalist refuse it. The crew had a board and straps and talked it down step by step like it was nothing.

When they were done, they swept up and walked me around to check. I paid the price we'd agreed, and that was it. The whole thing took less time than I'd spent worrying about it.

My advice to anyone in the same situation is not to wait as long as I did. The relief was worth more than the cost.