SWB is off her trolley

Folks we’re in, oh yes. Here I sit, perched at the breakfast bar, and pausing to exhale. It’s been one rocky ride.

 

LSB is back to work, yes that’s right, the week we actually move in, he’s back at the office. Fecking builder’s and their deadlines; those are a movable feast I can tell you. But in fairness he was around to help with the clear out job last week, and erect some bedroom furniture, courtesy of Action Cancer on the Ormeau road.

 

My attitude to moving is haphazard. Most people stockpile boxes in advance, then fill and then label according, so they can unpack in time. Far too sensible for us! Oh no, we repeatedly fill a few bags, take back to the house, dump and return for another go. We then stare in horror at the wreckage.

 

Some kind friends called to assist the shift from the apartment. Susan arrives and we set to clearing. I have grotesquely underestimated the amount of stuff. If you read my blog back in October you may remember phrases such as ‘pared down living’ and I think the phrase ‘capsule wardrobe’ was even bandied about. It was all shite. Our mounds of clothing, books and toys  have grown exponentially. Susan notes the lack of boxes and usual moving paraphernalia. I have about three Sainsbury’s Bags for Life and a couple of shopping baskets, ‘borrowed’ from the same store. Undeterred she sets to, “Why don’t we take the big awkward things first.” She heads to the lift with an easel and some bits of bed. Big bits in successfully, she surveys the wreckage and tentatively enquires: “I don’t want to upset your system but…” It is perfectly obvious that there is no system, so under her guidance we just get to it. Wrapping a mountain of clothes in a duvet as it turns out is an excellent means of transporting half a wardrobe. Who knew? She is adept, purposeful and positively Amazonian as she hoists and shifts. She wouldn’t see me in her wake.

 

Tuesday was the turn of the Racing Retiree to lend a hand. She’s another expert, no messing about there. I thought I was better organised this time, I’d emptied a few of the bags, and there was another eiderdown for clothing conveyance. She too, noting the disarray took matters in hand. “What would you like done with the artwork?” She asks tactfully, surveying the children’s doodles, strewn throughout the room. They go in a bag and are dumped. Thank God for that. I’ve borrowed a trolley from the local garage, which is another Top Tip if you happen to live in a third floor apartment. My friend asserts that this genius idea forgives all other lack of system.

 

I haven’t been an easy person to be around. Working with me at times like this must be akin to dealing with someone who’s suffered a head trauma. Luckily my friends are kind and understanding of my befuddlement. They see the scale of the operation, and forgive the lack of forward planning on my part.

 

So it’s now 5-30 in the morning, I’m having palpitations and instead of lying awake I’m up drinking tea and blogging. We have a foreign student coming to stay on Sunday and a bed and sofa to build in preparation. I seriously need my head read.

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