Comfort in clutter

Previously on 'The Pearson Show': So, I am able to stay at the cottage, despite the tenancy ending on the 31st of October (originally the 30th of September), until it's sold, on a rolling calendar month's notice. However, to increase the chance of a sale while I'm still loitering around, I agreed to put most of my stuff into storage. And that's where we join the story...

The removal guys are coming tomorrow. Originally, I was going to sort everything on Saturday, and then I thought, actually, maybe there's not that much to do, I can do it all on Sunday, as it'll take, probably, on average, about an hour a room to get prep'd for the packers who will do the actual boxing. 

And to be fair - as fair as I can be - I did pretty much get the living room done. By which I mean I moved the dining table and chairs into one corner and then stacked the table with everything from that room that wasn't to be packed. I was going to move on to the kitchen but then I hit upon the excuse that there was no point in doing that until after supper on Monday (i.e. the next day, i.e. today) so that's when I stopped.

This evening, then, I made pasta, pesto and garlic bread for Dan and Abi, which they ate on their knees, side by side on the sofa, and then roasted some vegetables and sausages for myself. Abi opted to go back to her mum's to sleep, so instead of doing the kitchen, I cuddled up on the sofa with Dan and watched Green Day's 'Heart Like A Hand Grenade' again on my laptop, in front of the fire. 

After that, just as we were going upstairs, I took a last look around the living room. You could hardly call it bare - just look at it - but it does seem that way to me. Flat surfaces that aren't overflowing with stacks of books, paper, CDs, bits of electronic kit, Christmas, birthday and Fathers' Day cards from friends and relatives, knick-knacks, and bits of Amazon packaging: it's just not natural. At least not for me.

I suppose you might think that after being out of my house for three years, this is just an over-compensation, a way of making these rental houses more homely by packing them with my stuff, but whilst it is true that I take some comfort from that, the truth is that I've always loved little bits and pieces lying around. In my wallet I have a daft little note that Izzy wrote me four or five years ago and in my car there's a post-it note that reads "Just popped in to drop off mothers' day presents. Love Dan". There are cards from the Minx mixed in with stacks of books, and several years of school photos propped up on shelves. On the wall in the kitchen there's the list of bands from Glastonbury 2014 and photobooth photos of Hannah and Abi. On my bedside table is a broken cufflink that the Minx gave me and on the fireplace is an unframed photo of my mum and dad.

I wonder how it's going to be, tomorrow, when the removers have been and packed everything up. Will I like this new spartan way of life? Certainly, I can see the attraction of a shelf that can be dusted without having to move twenty odds and ends beforehand. Perhaps some minimalist me, previously bludgeoned into submission, will take this opportunity to emerge and seize the day. 

One thing's for certain, though; I'm definitely going to invite some people 'round for dinner while the cottage looks like it belongs to a grown up.