Finally - a clear-out (From Gazette & Herald)

Finally - a clear-out

STRESSFUL task this morning - getting John measured up for his tops and tails for daughter Joanna's wedding in July. Our prospective son-in-law had already made contact with the dress-hire firm, but at some stage John is required to take himself in and get measured. I was drafted in for moral support.

"You'll fall in love with him all over again when you see him dressed up in this lot," the men's outfitter said. "I expect it's a bit different to the suit he normally wears for work, isn't it?"

I should say. The number of times John wears a suit in a year can be counted on one hand. Even a jacket and tie. Some of my friends fuss about the number of shirts that their respective menfolk need each week, and I thank my lucky stars that I only have to worry that John's boiler suit covers all the relevant bits to keep him decent and warm. Making sure the ironing's been done is not one of my life's priorities.

Moving furniture and clearing out rubbish must also rank high on the list of stressful tasks. John normally hates that sort of job, but decided that we needed a good clear-out of the cottage we own, as it is in between lets and has accumulated a pile of cherished items we can't bring ourselves to throw away yet - odds and sods belonging to my mum, old toys, outdated lamp shades, forlorn books and games, crumbling Christmas ornaments and do-it-yourself necessities. Daughters Bryony and Jo have laid claim to some of the furniture in the cottage but no one had dared to scramble into the depths of the loft for many a year.

We set aside Sunday afternoon for the activity, and by evening, John and I were dusty but virtuous, had only argued a few times over what to wang, what to keep (nothing) and what to give away. The trailer and the Land Rover were chocca with the sort of stuff that you wondered why on earth you considered it had any merit to you and your way of life in the first place.

We trundled home and immediately had to sort out, into a heap for charity shops and a heap for the tip, as the trailer was needed first thing in the morning to take a heifer to market. This particular heifer escaped being dehorned, and has become a bit too handy in giving the other cows in the suckler herd a quick under-jab with them. As she is not in calf yet, and already displaying this very anti-social behaviour, I am afraid there is only one future for her, and that is as a steak dinner.

This afternoon I set off for our local community shop, having cleaned out the cow muck from the heifer, repacked the trailer and put rubbish for the tip at the front and 'charity goods' at the back. The theory was that I would unload at the shop with everything they needed and then off to the tip with the rest. Our ideas differed. Having helped me unload for the shop, the volunteer workers kept bringing out all the stuff for the tip.

"That's no good," I said as they staggered past with an old black and white TV and clothes airer.

"Oh yes they are," they determined, grimly hanging onto their prizes. Ten minutes later and I trundled off to the tip with a very depleted load, but a song in my heart, etc, that I had done the right thing and had a very clean attic.

They even wanted the Christmas ornaments. In May.STRESSFUL task this morning - getting John measured up for his tops and tails for daughter Joanna's wedding in July. Our prospective son-in-law had already made contact with the dress-hire firm, but at some stage John is required to take himself in and get measured. I was drafted in for moral support.

"You'll fall in love with him all over again when you see him dressed up in this lot," the men's outfitter said. "I expect it's a bit different to the suit he normally wears for work, isn't it?"

I should say. The number of times John wears a suit in a year can be counted on one hand. Even a jacket and tie. Some of my friends fuss about the number of shirts that their respective menfolk need each week, and I thank my lucky stars that I only have to worry that John's boiler suit covers all the relevant bits to keep him decent and warm. Making sure the ironing's been done is not one of my life's priorities.

Moving furniture and clearing out rubbish must also rank high on the list of stressful tasks. John normally hates that sort of job, but decided that we needed a good clear-out of the cottage we own, as it is in between lets and has accumulated a pile of cherished items we can't bring ourselves to throw away yet - odds and sods belonging to my mum, old toys, outdated lamp shades, forlorn books and games, crumbling Christmas ornaments and do-it-yourself necessities. Daughters Bryony and Jo have laid claim to some of the furniture in the cottage but no one had dared to scramble into the depths of the loft for many a year.

We set aside Sunday afternoon for the activity, and by evening, John and I were dusty but virtuous, had only argued a few times over what to wang, what to keep (nothing) and what to give away. The trailer and the Land Rover were chocca with the sort of stuff that you wondered why on earth you considered it had any merit to you and your way of life in the first place.

We trundled home and immediately had to sort out, into a heap for charity shops and a heap for the tip, as the trailer was needed first thing in the morning to take a heifer to market. This particular heifer escaped being dehorned, and has become a bit too handy in giving the other cows in the suckler herd a quick under-jab with them. As she is not in calf yet, and already displaying this very anti-social behaviour, I am afraid there is only one future for her, and that is as a steak dinner.

This afternoon I set off for our local community shop, having cleaned out the cow muck from the heifer, repacked the trailer and put rubbish for the tip at the front and 'charity goods' at the back. The theory was that I would unload at the shop with everything they needed and then off to the tip with the rest. Our ideas differed. Having helped me unload for the shop, the volunteer workers kept bringing out all the stuff for the tip.

"That's no good," I said as they staggered past with an old black and white TV and clothes airer.

"Oh yes they are," they determined, grimly hanging onto their prizes. Ten minutes later and I trundled off to the tip with a very depleted load, but a song in my heart, etc, that I had done the right thing and had a very clean attic.

They even wanted the Christmas ornaments. In May.

Updated: 13:18 Wednesday, May 21, 2003