Some things simply won't fit into my new house. Some could be parted with easily, especially if they were going to loving homes (oddly, no one wanted Hamish*....) and some simply got left out in the back lane, to vanish very quickly. I have been fairly ruthless about some things, although the Lovely Son still thinks I'm taking far too much.
The old tallboy - or Scotch press (above) - was a source of some anguish, but really was too big and too much at odds with the style of the cottage to fit in comfortably, and a friend of a friend was thrilled to receive it for her Victorian house.
But this meant getting it down from the attic.....
Four strong men spent a very long time bringing it downstairs, my warning to NOT chip any paintwork on the staircase ringing in their ears.
We three women did other things meantime (I
When they finally got down to the hall, puffing and sweating, well, I don't know what cruel impulse possessed me, but I found myself casually remarking that it had originally been carted up to the attic many years ago by Tricia, her weedy boyfriend, and me.
But it was true; it had.
Then, with miles of rope and more puffing and sweating, they heaved the tallboy onto the roof rack, and went off with it, where it will be carted into its new home - at the top of the house.
Now I must stop blogging and get on with the chaos that is packing of all the miscellaneous items.
* only kidding, Hamish, honest