Spent yesterday in an effort to sort anything of mine out ready for the big move. Between us Mum and I are systematically going through the loft clearing all my stuff out and getting ready to try to flog things at a car boot sale hopefully next week or the week after. Crikey, there are so many boxes of mine to sort out. My entire life from age 0 upwards is stowed away in the attic, it’s really hard to contemplate throwing a lot of it away. I think I have every single thing I must have done at school packaged away in boxes up there. Finding all sorts of mad things I had forgotten about, strange collections of objects and old diaries I kept. Frightening but compelling reading.
Bill says he doesn’t have anything left of his from when he was younger and he’s a bit upset about that. I’m beginning to wonder whether that’s actually a good thing though. What on earth am I going to do with all my stuff?!!
Managed to get the writing bureau I inherited from Nanna Downes down from the attic. Was always keeping that for when I had space of my own to put it, can’t exactly ship it out to America though. Seems silly. Going to have to wax it up so it’s nice and see what it’ll fetch at auction I suppose.
On this day in 1993:
“Felt a bit weird at Somerfields*. Got home and was sick. Mum took me into Plymouth and would have let me drive if I hadn’t have said no, I’d drive back. I was sick in River Island of all places and all the way home.”
*used to have a part-time job as a cashier when I was at school.