It’s less than a week now until we move, and we’re starting to flag a bit.
Every room is full of boxes, either full or waiting to be filled, lining the rooms like some cardboard termite mound whilst we squeeze through tunnels between them.
It’s tiring. Both the constant decision making process – to store, to the caravan, to the charity box, to trash – and the packing and manhandling of the boxes to safe stacks around the house.
There is nothing that brings home the stark reality of having too much stuff like the process of having to pack it away.
To be fair, the bulk of it is books. I honestly don’t know how many boxes of books we have. It must be in the hundreds.
Husband and I both share an abiding love of books, but combining our collections when we married three years ago has resulted in a veritable tsunami of books. Working in the book industry for major publishers over the last thirteen years has only fed the beast. It’s overwhelming. We’ve never had them all unpacked…
When we get to the island we’re going to have to do further weeding out and disposal. There simply won’t be enough wallspace to build enough book shelves to take them all, I’m sure of it.
However, we’re now on the final stretch. The last few yards.
The day of the move is almost upon us, She says with a big, tired smile.
For over fifteen years I commuted on a weekly basis between home in Toulouse and work in London.
I think I was in a tearing hurry to make my departure gate and my carry-on luggage had just fallen apart, so although I noted that it was a bit pricier than what I would normally pay for a bag, I paid almost no attention at the time to the fact that it came with a lifetime guarantee.
Ravencroft Skye 