Thursday: A short trip to the tip before the welcome diversion of work.
Friday: Long trips to the tip, scooping out a clear floor in Girl’s garage. Long trips to fill it up again with items to puzzle over later. Mostly glass jars for brewing. Long does not denote distance here but effort. My fingers are porcupined with flakes of rusted metal.
Saturday: Discover that the sofa will dent the ceiling of the entrance hallway but not fit into the house. Sofa is sent to the holding pen of Girl’s garage. Returning to Number Three I forget to put the latch on. Mr shuts the front and only door. Mr climbs in through the window to let us back in again. We have hired, used, returned the nifty van. My objective for the day’s end was to be sat on our sofa: I had not envisioned sitting in a garage looking at all the other stuff that doesn’t fit. Sorry says Mr, for his measuring had proven fallible. We both sigh. At the old house, trundling dusty things into collecting points- here for the tip, here for the holding pen, here for moving on- we are surprised to meet up with our old Farmer Landlord, and Mrs Farmer Landlord. The kettle goes on. I rinse spider husks out of cups. They are sifting through the old double door garage. ‘Anyone collecting mummified mice?’ He asks. ‘No thank you,’ I respond, and after breaking the news that there’s no sugar here, enquire after the bed base that is dragged out under the washing line. Consequently it travels on the top of my car, is installed now as an improvised couch.
[Thank you all so much for your comments- looks like I've persuaded the internet to work properly after what feels like some kind of exile!! To find myself online without a struggle induces happiness, to find such lovely words induces a little happy expressive dance :-)Thank you thank you thank you!
And yes, one thousand of these verses is my goal- should stretch my powers of observation and description! – This I wrote in response to other comments on my Ten of One Thousand piece: unable to post as internet promptly crashed.]