Four days ago I had a flat, now I have a bombsite. Boxes of books dominate one wall of the spare bedroom, and boxes of other stuff dominate one wall of the living room. Bits of clothing and boxes of this and that are scattered everywhere.
Tonight will be the last night in my own bed for about a year. Tomorrow I dismantle it and its dismembered pieces will join the pile in the living room. I'm beginning to worry about running out of space in the locker – I didn't have a lounge suite or a bed last time, as I discarded the ancient relics I had been using and bought new ones on my return.
Sleeping on an airbed, even though I own the airbed, doesn't count as sleeping in my own bed.
I have taken the opportunity to throw out half of my wardrobe. All those ancient shirts and trousers I thought might come in useful – gone. If I haven't worn them in two years then I probably never will. If they are gone to holes and worn out, it doesn't matter if they are my favourite shirts – out they go.
I will pack a bit, then stop and rest. It breaks up the boredom.
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