We moved last week, and the part everyone warned me about (the sofa, the white goods, the boxes of books I refuse to thin out) was fine. The part that worried me was the cupboard under the stairs, which over the years had quietly become a homelab.
I did the sensible thing and powered everything down in order rather than just pulling the wall socket: VMs first, then the host, then the NAS, then the switch. I photographed the back of every box before unplugging a single cable, which sounds obsessive until you are kneeling in a new house at 11pm trying to remember which port the management VLAN lived on.
The drives travelled wrapped in towels in a box on my lap, not in the van. Spinning rust does not enjoy being thrown around the back of a Luton with a wardrobe. Everything came up first time except the firewall, which had picked up a static lease for the old flat's network and sulked until I corrected it.
Two days of no internet at the new place taught me how much of my life runs through that cupboard. It is back up now, tucked into a slightly bigger cupboard, and I have promised myself I will label the cables properly this time. I will not.