I woke early this morning fully anticipating the earth-shattering noise of “My Boy TM ” quietly going to work. I wasn’t disappointed. Who needs alarm clocks? And since I’d been woken I got on with everyone else’s ironing. They all come downstairs and find their laundry washed and ironed and in their own piles. I swear they must think magical pixies do it overnight.
I thought I’d tidy out my locker at work today. It’s not very big, and it’s got so cluttered that I can’t get my sarnies in there any more, so a rake-out was a must. I was amazed what I found. A newspaper from eleven years ago featuring a nudey Anthea Turner. An Empire magazine from fourteen years ago featuring (thankfully) clothed Klingons. And a whole load of paperbacks I’d given up for lost.
Gripped by the tidying bug I came home and threw two dustbin bags of rubbish out of the kitchen. If anything precious has gone with the rubbish, then (frankly), that’s a shame. I’m fed up with living in the middle of a mess. I’m getting ready for a major hoik-out in a couple of weeks time. Once the top box is off of the car and I can drive into the tip again I’m going to seriously clear some space about the house.
There’s all sorts of rubbish in the house that is going to get thrown away. Ten year old motherboards and sound cards. Miles of telephone extension cables. The old Sky-Box. Two knacked camping beds. The old round wooden table. Mouse-eaten tents. Mouse-eaten gazebos. Spare parts for mouse eaten gazebos. Spare parts for heaven only knows what. All will go in the bin. So be warned, dear reader. If you think I’m looking after your stuff for you, please be sure that I am aware that I am doing so. Because in two weeks time, it’s going to the tip.
In other news I’ve managed to obtain a portable cludgee for camping to replace the one that died at the Brighton Kite Festival. I say “obtain” - “won on eBay” is perhaps a better description. I’m hoping it will be more hard wearing than the last one was…