Basket case?

Finally we have moved house. It has been a long drawn out process, but a few interesting things have come to light as a result.

Now, I have been all fired up about decluttering, downsizing, streamlining etc. I thought I was on top of it. I was so ruthless with my hoarding tendency, getting rid of my excess possessions. I’m free! I thought. Now I can travel light through life, no longer weighed down by ‘stuff’.

And then… all these baskets were found when I came to pack. I felt like an alcoholic whose secret empty bottle stash has been discovered. And those baskets in that photo weren’t all of them either.

I’ve always had a weakness for baskets. I find it SO hard to part with them. But, honestly, I don’t know what I’m going to do with them all. There just isn’t room now. I have managed today to part with my three least favourite ones. It’s a start. I had no idea I had a basket addiction! I mean, how ‘normal’ is basket hoarding? Hard to say as there are no official statistics for this.

Another thing I learnt about myself is that I’m not quite as sentimental as I thought I was. The day before the move I was in pieces as the removal men dismantled my home around me. But this was the lowest point, and I was lucky enough to have my youngest son there as a shoulder to cry on (actually maybe I should say I cried on his elbow, given our height difference, but that sounds really weird).

Moving day itself wasn’t as emotional as I thought it might be. It was a bit difficult to manage the animals while the stuff was being taken out of the house and the doors had to be left open. I tried to do things while taking the dog around with me on a lead, but - trust me - it doesn't work! So I decided to go round to Mum and Dad’s for a cup of tea. Mum gave me a wise piece of advice when I told her I was feeling a bit emotional. “Don’t look back”, she said. “Do what I did when I left our home in Kent for the last time. I walked out of the door and didn’t look back.”

So, when it came time to go I did likewise. I’d had ideas about being the last to leave, wandering through the empty rooms that had echoed with the laughter of my children and all that sort of thing. In the end I was the last to leave, but I felt much more pragmatic than I expected to. Besides, there wasn’t time for sentimentality. For a start, the cat was going frantic and had had diarrhoea in his cat carrier and I was thinking how on Earth I was going to deal with it.

I went out of the front door, closed it behind me and put the keys through the letterbox. And I didn’t look back.

Archie wonders what is going on

I haven’t looked back all week either. I don’t think I will now. I feel at home here already, and although we have lots to do to make it fully ours I haven’t missed the old house at all.