I have just cleared out the loft. Not a voluntary act, but forced on me due to new insulation being installed.
Lofts are fabulously spooky places….and not for the faint hearted. If it’s not the shadows in the corners and strange scratching noises (which are always behind you) then it’s the energetic spiders and vermin droppings the size of chipolatas which define it as ‘men only’ territory.
There’s only one thing worse than putting stuff in the loft…and that’s taking it all out again. Particularly when the boxes are empty! And so this presented me with an all too rare opportunity to be reunited with household items I was hoping never to clap eyes on again. So hello to :
Old Versace ties from my Nineties TV presenting days – yeeuch
Old jackets (are big shoulders back in?)
A mouse trap with little fluffy still in its metal vice grip
Mrs Vole’s wedding dress
and 482 random items “which we should keep…just in case”.
The loft was empty, but not for long. Two perspiring operatives from the local insulation company arrived and cheerfully carried out their contractual obligation (quote of the day “No it’s not that hot up here, Ive always been fat and sweaty”).
This was a great chance to have a brutal downsizing. So wedding dress and Christmas decorations safely returned to the loft I headed for the tip with the rest.
Civic amenity sites have always intrigued me. Every time I go there’s someone there who looks shifty and whatever they are doing it looks as though they probably shouldn’t be doing it. Despite having possibly the worst jobs in Britain the couple who run the place pretend not to be too curious about what you are chucking in the skip but you always get the feeling they are always watching…..always. Maybe their caravan is missing a chandelier and they think today could be the day.
So I threw everything into the skip…mostly old clothes, toys and rubbish. Just as I was turning away I spotted a couple of pages of Vole Junior’s first diary entries eg “Daddy turned red in the sun. It made me laugh” accompanied by drawing of a red stick man with enormous jagged teeth and three fingered hands.
So I did what anyone else would have done. All grace was thrown out of the window as I jumped in and recovered the pages. I just couldn’t let them go.
As for the rest of my waste…well as the picture above shows they were on it like a shot. Honestly, couldn’t they have waited until I had gone?
I’ll be back next week. To see if the bloke is wearing a Versace tie.