Today was a day with a mission. I’m off to America soon and I have been feeling haunted by the chaos in the attic up above the garage at our family home.
It’s about to go on the market and, apart from the fact that the mess up there isn’t exactly an edifying site for propespective buyers, if the house sells whilst I am away, my poor mother will have to deal as house movers won’t clear attics. Even ones with external proper staircases. Something to do with ‘ealth and safety. Apparently.
As I store some of my household junk up there, I felt it behoved me to sort out the entire space for my mama. But goodness it’s taken HOURS. No, DAYS. Because I had a damn good crack at it over a few weeks back in March and it still looked like a bombsite last week.
It has felt like an archaeological dig up there. In the spring I dealt with all the bric a brac, my clothes archive and the boxes of random junk we hurled up there when various grandparental houses were cleared. That was the interesting stuff. (Like this & this.)
Today I’ve run up and down the moss-covered, ankle-breaking stairs in rain and hail a gazillion times with armfuls of newspapers, old school exercise books, books for charity and boxes of paperwork from the 1960s to the present day. We are clearly a family of paper-obsessed, record-keeping squirrels.
Mainly I’ve been hurling crap into the hired skip (dumpster) with abandon, whilst mama has attacked the garages below. It’s been good exercise and very satisying, but mind-numbingly dull and finger-numbingly cold.
By around five hours in I had managed to clear a path to the back window, but fear I have at least another hour to go to make it look more like controlled storage and less like the local dump.
I’m just glad no one saw me in my special attic-clearing getup, scavanged from the bootroom. I was wearing a sheepskin flying bonnet strapped under my chin, an ancient fleece, and rubber halfboots decorated with Jack Russell terriers.