My cat insists on sleeping in my suitcase which is still half-unpacked due to a deathly mix of laziness and sentimentality.
I always think it's brilliant to see familiar, dear places from another angle. My favourite church in Vienna looks almost modest compared to the grand houses.
It's nice to see a room all new and organised whereas my room is slowly disappearing under a random amount of written stuff - books, magazines, newspapers, diaries, more books. And photographs, records and cd's in between. I live in constant fear that one of the piles next to my bed might collapse. My bookshelves are packed though - where to put it?