Today I’m going to pack up the bedroom. Or the kitchen. Or a small section of the kitchen. Rodney is at a costume fitting for a film he is working on this week. Then hopefully he’ll come back and help. I don’t really like being on my own in the flat anymore. As Rodney pointed out last night, it no longer feels like home. We took all our pictures down and have started packing a few things, but I don’t think that’s the reason. Mentally we’ve just shifted so our minds are already halfway to Ireland.
However, there is still a whole week until we leave London and as neither of us is very good at early preparation I know exactly what will happen when Rodney arrives ‘home’. He’ll take one look at all the mess I will possibly create in the next few hours and he’ll suggest we head out for a break / drink. I’ll be persuaded by the bright lights of not-here and the packing will once again be abandoned for another day (we’ve had a month of this already).
At some point though, we’re going to have to face this beast, to sort through years of accumulated shit and decide what to keep and what to dump / take to the charity bin at the end of the street.
I’m pretty sure two people do not need 26 plates and 31 mugs. But how do you decide which ones to keep?! One of my biggest regrets is taking random household items from my Granny’s house after she died. Things I didn’t even know she had which I now can’t bear to part with because they remind me of her. Like this priceless old plastic brazil nut container which she used as a tea caddy:
I think I’ll sit down with a cuppa tea and mull it over.