So, this week the trauma of life continues. It’s a first world problem alright- we’ve had to move out since I want a bigger kitchen and an extra couple of bedrooms, it’s not like we’re being bombed to shit in Aleppo. But I am looking forward to the day we can all fit round the dining table without someone being brained every time we open the fridge. And since I’m a total midget a few low level cupboards wouldn’t go a miss so I can reach things without being hit on the head by a condiment. I’ve had enough of head injuries of late.
Anyway, it’s amazing how fast one becomes conditioned to doing things. I’ve always been a keen recycler. I recall being taken to play at the school where my dad was a teacher. Seeing the hall littered with Coke cans I found a bin bag and started collecting with vigour, much to the mortification of my friends. At my school I joined the ‘can-crushing’ club, where about 6 of us organised for recycling bins to be ordered and then set to crushing the cans in the greenhouse beside the biology rooms. I still remember the sweet cloying reek of the fermented juice; and the wasps in summer: I was one earnest wee child. Twenty years on, there’s a no cans policy in most schools, though I know much of the paper and cardboard in many is taken straight to the dump which is a disgraceful state of affairs altogether.
It was with great consternation then, that I noted an absence of compost bins in the new apartment. I attempted to reason with myself and let it go, but the OCD crept in. A little part of me dies inside every time a banana skin goes in the bin. So we’re just going to cart it to the dump twice a week, which thankfully is beside where we run, so no wastage of petrol there. Composting is a most worthwhile endeavour, the results of which have already been noted by my pal’s mum, who got a couple of bags from her local dump, and has seen her roses flourish as never before.
LSB has lived up to his acronym this weekend. Since it’s full steam ahead with the extension and the builders are about to ‘break through’ as they say, it’s necessitated a move to an apartment down town. It’s quite New Yorky in feel, high ceilings, big windows, minimalist furnishings…. until we arrived with all our crap. I had sought to adopt a ‘pared down living’ lifestyle for 6 months, but it’s amazing how much stuff one seems to need just to get on with daily life.
I’ve succeeded in rationing clothes, but I need a functioning kitchen. I can’t seem to settle with out knowing I have my herbs and spices to hand, and my favourite pots and pans. Since I’m also prone to burning arses of woks it’s probably safer that I use my own and leave the others in the state we found them.
Anyway, the actual move commenced on Friday, with LSB taking the day off work. Now I’d been emptying cupboards and packing glassware for a week, so emotionally I’d processed we were off. But, not so with himself, who’s been running, or coaching running, or planning f**king running routes all week, so Friday appeared to bring on a mild attack of anxiety. Thankfully this attack didn’t render him inert and he successfully organised broadband and built beds, his main priority being that the Minis’ room was cosy and inviting. This sounds kind and loving but really it’s because we can bear to listen to any more whinging. They’ve taken to our new digs insofar as they see the corner sofa and chairs as an assault course, and when they’re not vaulting over them, they’re lying like baby tigers draped along the tops. The effing bo is still firmly clenched between FJ’s teeth and a steady dribble making it’s way down the fabric. There goes the deposit.
Neighbours looked on in barely disguised horror as they witnessed our removal strategy; I think they thought a lot of knackers had arrived in. I commandeered a large trolley from the local petrol station to cart boxes from the car park, into the lift and up to our third floor flat. I’m not sure the double doors remained unscathed, and some colourful language may have been employed. There has to be some value in a ‘less is more’ style of living.
