Moving House: Part 1

It’s March, so we’re getting close to the time when everyone has to use up the holidays they’ve accumulated, and that means I have this whole weekend off. I decided to spend it at home, since from May it’ll be someone else’s home, which is a sorry subject I will probably come back to later.

Anyway, I gutted the contents of my room over the Christmas break. It should be simple:

1. Start off with four bags, i.e. paper to be recycled, clothes to be recycled, clothes for the charity shop, and just plain old rubbish.

2. Fill said bags with your stuff, preferably on a day when you’re not feeling sentimental.

Helpful questions: have I worn this in the last two years? Am I ever likely to wear it? Do I really need this old physics jotter when I am never likely to think about Standard Grade physics again? (And when it doesn’t provide half the entertainment value of an English jotter full of ‘creative writing’?) Will I ever actually read the set texts from second-year French? If the answer is no, out it goes.

Room gutted.

Room gutted.

However, I’m a hoarder, so this is always difficult for me. Now all my stuff that was in the loft or the garage has been brought in for me to go through before the move. This is even more difficult, because it’s mostly memories rather than stuff I use every day, and I don’t think the previous ‘helpful questions’ apply in this case.

One day, I did learn a really good lesson: I was staying in Spain as part of my third year abroad. My mother was supposed to bring home my second suitcase but her flight was cancelled. As I have the strength of a twiglet, and had no £200 to spend on bringing a second case home myself, I had to condense everything I had needed to live and get by for five months into a single suitcase. What’s worse is that it was one of the few times in my life I did any shopping, and I had a small collection of new clothes. Therefore anything that was a bit older had to go, even if they were some of my favourite things. The massive toy I won at a fair had to be left in the flat, although in fairness I don’t think it would have fit regardless. All the uni books I’d bought were piled up alongside a note begging my horrific flatmates of the time to take them to a charity shop and not just throw them out.

That was the hardest part – I’m extra sentimental about books. And one of the best things I’ve come across in this clear out is my collection of Ladybird books. I know my favourite book was Winnie the Pooh and the Blustery Day. I’ve seen photos of myself with the book as a toddler, and my parents have told me enough times how I asked to hear it every night for months. Another one I clearly remember is Lady and the Tramp. In primary one, one of my friends read a page from a similar book in front of the class and, little show-off, I went home and read Lady and the Tramp start to finish. Then I took it into school the next day and read in front of everyone, just to prove I could.

Charlie getting in the way.

Charlie getting in the way.

My mum had wanted to pass on the books to my cousin’s new baby, but it was my sister of all people who had said, ‘You can’t do that! She should pass them on to her children!’ So now I have a bag full of Ladybird books that a selfish part of me really wants to keep. Another little voice points out that I’m way too young to have something ready to pass on to hypothetical children in ten years’ time, and I should probably be kind and give my books to the new baby in the family. Even if she’s a few years off appreciating how important they are!


Anyway, it’s probably time to get back to going through my stuff. Does this count as goal eleven (taking myself out of my comfort zone)?

Hope you’re all having a good weekend!


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