That’s what they used to say on the Ikea advert wasn’t it? And there was a little song too. Well that’s what we’ve been doing over the last few days anyway, although to me chintz means lacey things with floral patterns and pictures of Westies on them, so I didn’t have any of that to start with. We’ve been chucking out other things.
Since Saturday we have thrown or given away TWENTY ONE bin bags of stuff from our flat. Twenty one! And we only live in a small flat too. We honestly had so much crap, and given that we’re supposed to be (hopefully) moving at some point we thought there was just no way any sane person could pack up and move so much old rubbish.
It was so cathartic, and it has made the flat feel a lot less cluttered. Part of our reason for needing to move was that we’ve run out of space, but actually it transpires that all we needed was a really ruthless clear out. But never mind that, we do still want to move, and without a motivator like “You’re going to have to carry boxes and boxes of this shit down the stairs soon” it would have been impossible ever to throw any of it away.
Interesting things that I found we had been keeping were:
- empty boxes and their polystyrene insides, because they ‘might be useful for packing up and moving [insert equipment that broke ages ago] at some point’.
- electrical equipment that broke ages ago and has since resided in the loft, not even in its designated box but next to it.
- a wardrobe we dismantled and have no hope of reassembling.
- 40,000 carrier bags.
- Two Thompson Locals dating from 2004, including the one where they did away with the actual cat on the front and replaced it with a terrifying woman in a blue catsuit.
- Lots of books, which have gone to a charity shop. This one is only interesting because after boxing up all the books to go to the charity shop, I idly opened one book and found an old appointment card for a sexual health clinic and a leaflet on sexually transmitted infections. That would have been a nice surprise for whichever old lady ends up buying A Concise History Of France.
Our loft now only contains items that we actually use from time to time, and we’ve got about five empty drawers and cupboards around the house. Suddenly moving seems a lot more manageable, because you could throw most of what is left into boxes in a few hours, and you wouldn’t have to wonder what any of it is or why it still exists.
Regarding the actual move, things are progressing bit by bit. We’ve done pretty much everything we can do, and we’re just waiting on a planning query with the council and some other bits and bobs from the sellers. The estate agent decided to ring me up and be mean to me last week, because our conveyancer has taken a clause out of the contract and the sellers didn’t like it. So rather deliberately the estate agent chose to have a go at me about it, knowing I’m a much weaker negotiating target than a legal professional would be. It didn’t work though, because I set our conveyancer on him straight afterwards who told him off, and the sellers’ solicitor has since caved under the pressure of our far superior conveyancer and the clause has remained taken out. So in your face, Danny The Wanky Estate Agent. I’ve learnt that having a good conveyancer makes SO much difference when you’re buying a property.
We’ll get there in the end, I hope. I just want to exchange now, because the prospect of it falling through after you’ve put this much time and effort into it is just too much to bear. Once we’ve exchanged contracts I can relax, so fingers crossed it happens soon.
And then we can start filling up our new flat with loads of old crap.