I went to mum’s today to socially isolate myself in the garage and sort out some stuff because, you know, if not now, when? Or #INNW as we like to refer to it in this house.
We’ve never referred to it like that.
Anyway, I was there for about five hours.
I have done nothing.
Nothing of any consequence, at least. There’s still stuff, it’s still there. But it’s just in slightly different places now to what it was this morning. Oh, and I did smash a footstool with a sledgehammer. That was fun.
But essentially all I have done today is collect pencils in a tub, allen keys in another tub, dismantle a dangerous heater so that I could stamp on the aluminium bits inside it and make it flat so it took up less room, throw away a lot of toothbrushes (something I have done on numerous occasions previously and I don’t understand where they’re all coming from) and fight with some pallets.
Oh, and anger my father’s spirit.
Honestly, he’s been throwing things round that garage like there’s no tomorrow today.
As I threw away toothbrushes, he upended the pot of pencils I had filled.
As I put something else away, he flung a stepladder over.
Honestly, it’s been full on Ghostbusters in there.
I mean, it hasn’t.It’s me.
Being clumsy and knocking shit over.
But it’s kind of fun to blame a vengeful spirit when you upend a plastic tub filled with rusty metal you have gathered from a variety of sources and is ultimately going into the “metal” area of the stuff that has been sorted into which bit of the tip it would go to – see also wood, plastic, electricals, light bulbs and the “I don’t know what the frick this is” bucket.
Also in the metal area are a selection of knives found in a box – eating knives, cheese knives and the like, presumably of my grandma’s from when they brought all the stuff up. But there is also, as my mum exclaimed (from the correct social distance) “Oh, my mum’s potato mashing fork!)
I don’t know how much sentimental value it has, but it’s in metal for now and I don’t plan on allowing my mother to bring a fork that has been festering in the garage for several years into the house. Luckily since her stroke mother finds that potatoes taste of soil so she’s unlikely to be mashing any, but still you should never under estimate my family’s skill for keeping any old shite…
I’m going back next week to do more moving things from one side of the room to the other…