My house looks like one of those featured on Channel 4 involving people with hoarding tendencies. I was instructed by the estate agent that I only had ten days to get out of my current abode. So I went like the clappers to shift, move, de clutter our things. At the same time a back drop of GCSE and A Level fuss going on. Also trying to do what he calls. my 24 7 monitoring. Necessary overseeing to make sure he is not flinging any of my stuff anywhere and also to try and extract some level of rubbish. We disagree on what actually constitutes rubbish. I actually growled at him when I saw him approaching my 1,000 plus ladybird book collection. He then told me to sort out books we did not actually need, ie ones we had read. I did this, he then put most of them back again. We had been dreading going up in the loft, but to my surprise everything was in boxes and bags. My seventeen year old daughter who has finished one set of exams spent an afternoon playing with her old Teletubby houses and I rescued a large 'Humpty' from the bin, memories of my youngest clutching this for what seemed years on every trip made the rescue of it vital. With many other things I have had a radical clear out, out with it and straight to the tip so I can't change my mind. As my husband often says, although not of course about his own things... hmmm nostalgia.. nasty sticky stuff!
I also have been literally hopping mad for two reason. The first being a physical reason, picking up laden boxes, only to have the contents come out straight through the bottom and on to my feet, which are usually only clad in flip flops. The second reason is having been told to move out, now there is yet another problem in the chain and a new buyer has to be found, further down the chain. After my phone glowed radioactive red with my shrieks. A new buyer was found who is prepared to take on the previous interested buyers searches and surveys. To say I am irritated seeing, as we should have moved 5 week's ago, to start what should be a spring and summer build is of course typical. If we ever move, I will end up living with a pile or rubble with the wind whistling through round until this time next year.
Also as I have been constantly informed, that I must be careful not to accumulate any more things. I can't help noticing on an almost daily basis that still multiple concertinas are arriving through the post at an alarming rate. He has taken to having conversations with me while playing one at the same time. It is driving me crackers. The latest arrival reminds me of something dropped out of a cracker in the 1970's with a rather unfortunate shrill top note of torture flattened to the rest of it's key. The final showdown last night, after he had played it most of the way through my dinner, was the fiddly rendition of the theme tune to The Archers, - we were not amused etc.
I already felt apoplectic with estate agent induced rage and this made it worse. You can divide Radio 4 listeners in half, with the commencement of that Archers theme tune, half will run to turn it down, the other half to turn it up. I come from family where you turn it off, he is the opposite. Most days revolve around what times it is on and whether he has missed it. One time when we were at Glastonbury Festival, Radio 4 were there recording a story line in the Archers involving one particular character. For one brief moment in time the producer was going to get m husband to play that tune on his accordion. I remember thinking he would end up crossing over into the Archers and never come back it was all so frilly and surreal. I had got over dramatic with my imagination running over time as I had a Brigadoon moment! However the idea was scrapped and we went back to listening to that wretched tune in a van, in the pouring rain, with a roof similar to my kitchen colander.
Today another epic trouser cull has taken place, there were howls of dismay as I extracted piles of ruined trousers which are of course meant to be worn to do dreadful jobs to do with cars, boats, decorating, or hair-brained large scale up-cycling projects. In principle I agree, however despite his previous grim faced promises to behave with trousers, announced frequently with tightly folded arms. They all go the same way. He never puts them on prior to frightful jobs, and they sit there in heaps in our bedroom cupboards, mournfully awaiting possible legs to liberate them. Today he was horrified to find that I had bought on line in a sale, dirt cheap, three pairs of his best shaped trousers for him. Why he wanted to know? This brought on a timely and wifely rant using examples of previous new trousers. their sudden and early demise, and their current journey to the recycling bin. The last lot went like this.
Get up in the morning ready for work with many hours to spare, once completely dressed smartly, lie under the car in a pool of oil, roll about in it and fix an ongoing problem and come out grinning and saying what a shame it is about trousers. Pair two, put on when only two days old and proceed to apply some heavy duty red gloss to a situation, mournfully express how sad it is that the paint seems to have left hand prints on his pale trousers. Pair three, don't bother to take off these nice new ones, they are perfect for wearing when making Elderberry wine and will stain beautifully etc. Wait until quite late at night and sit in a pile of ripened berries and bounce up and down. The bottom line is ruined trousers do not get worn for crappy jobs! The elderberry wine all 25 rancid bottles of it, was christened elderberry vinegar and gave us dreadful headaches and caused our friend Hairy Legs a lot of fuss a while back.
I am feeling most grumpy and irritated, fantasies involving bondage with brown sticky packing tape or straight jackets seem rather a good idea currently. I had to sit on my hands yesterday in order to not type rude responses to questions about things I am selling off cheap. ie 'is your 2nd hand swimming pool good value'... well seeing as it is fifty pounds less than any other pool for sale and much bigger, I might perhaps be led to that conclusion, oh sorry i forgot to mention that the Queen used to drop off for a dip in it on route to Balmoral. Or my 2nd hand table tennis table full size for only £25... do you think you could go down a bit....what you mean six foot under courtesy of my digging if you call around to barter with me. All things are now sold until the next phase. However I did just have to chase a lady up the road with the swimming pool ladder I forgot to give her.
Meanwhile just now, as I walked among the large number of houseplants I have put out in the garden ready for moving. I came across a very very contented husband who was surrounded by many accordions, all in bits, he was apparently sorting redundant ones out and taking useful parts off, and in fact his very own words, performing accordionectomy's. All impending reports have been he said mothballed for the time being. There will be huge commotion and demand for these in roughly ten days from now! Apparently our friend 'Hairy Legs' is coming over to stay soon so he is my co-partner in noticing special procrastinator y and elaborate projects going on involving my man.
I awoke the other morning hyperventilating for the second time in one week, due to the winning ticket status of my email, and found I had won £6.40 on Euro millions, I am having lots of luck, but they need to be slightly bigger wins! Also lots of articles on social network indicating that my mind would be boggled or blown by reading them. I think I may be a tad more irritated than usual. I noticed a particularly awful village worthy approaching the front of my house from a distance, in the space of two seconds I had snapped the curtain shut across the door and double locked everything. I know they are after anything I don't want to be donated to the fete worse than death. I thought perhaps a job lot of plants from me taken from cuttings from something hideous I grew in my garden by mistake. They all came into flower during a summer party a few years back now, and made everybody dry retch. They were a particularly frightful sort of lily which gave of rather an unfortunate smell of extreme putrification and attracted clouds of blow flies. I do notice that one or two are poking up through the soil. Perhaps in a nice decorative pot to add to the deception. A nice ribbon would add to things on the plant stall, often patrolled with military precision on the actual day.
Later on we may even find out when we can move, until that time it is a half way house.
ps: 15,000 members on here, if we all sign and pass on to ten people, we can trigger a debate in parliament... all governments depend on a population to be apathetic and not challenge the status quo. It is wrong that we are not given the choice of dessicated thyroid treatments, we can all do our bit, this petition needs us members on here to help and spread it beyond signing it.
Endless fuss soon.....
pps a big thank you to all of those posting Sainburys Activ Kids tokens to my local hospital, thanks a bunch.