This weekend has been a purging experience. I’ve mostly been ploughing through my belongings, throwing out things that are no longer relevant and organising everything else into carefully composed piles and sub-piles. I’m worried (of course) that these piles and sub-piles will recombine into a large pile at any moment. To avoid this, I’m leaving them in the middle of my bedroom floor as a kind of statement of “This is not finished – don’t even think of getting on with your life until I’ve been properly put away”. Three full bin-bags have so far left the room, full of holed socks, scraps of paper, ancient bills and scraps of paper.
Along with this process comes discovery. I’ve found a pad of over a hundred tiny post-its, each decorated with its own superhero face. Some of them have names and ridiculous super-abilities. Others brood anonymously. I’ve found amusing postcards showing the “Attack of the 50-ft Christ” and “The failings of New Labour”. I’ve found CDs which must never have had boxes to put them in, and more books than there are shelves to contain them. I have found more than my fair share of unused passport photographs – showing my transformation from long-haired naif through scrawny palid and all the way through my subsequent en-lard-ening. I could place them in a line and name the enterprise “The history of pie consumption”.