A decision has been very quickly reached in the household in the last few weeks.
Not just reached, but put into action. There really is no stopping us.
Quite swift work I should say.
The decision has been made to go up rather than out.
I talk not about our svelte-like physiques but our home.
We have decided to have a loft conversion.
Rumour has it that this is due to Iron Man’s terrible snoring.
Personally, I will not have a word said against this man.
It’s bad enough that he is going to be losing some key ‘man space’.
Lofts (particularly ours) are his domain. The place where he goes to ‘not put things away properly’. My only role is to shout futile instructions from the bottom of the ladder.
I do the occasional ‘Ofloft’ inspection and have made some very useful recommendations. Whether or not they have been acted upon is another matter.
Finding boot sale stuff in the Christmas section is really hurtful when you’ve put so much effort into being the remote assistant.
But it’s none of these things. It’s space and we need more of it. Actually, we want more of it.
But what we gain in space we lose in storage.
This will mean a bit of fine tuning in the hoarding department.
Well more than that. More like a damn good clear out, several hissy fits and floods of sentimental tears as we say goodbye to a lot of stuff that
I we would probably rather keep.
I cannot stand clutter but I also don’t like to part with sentimental things.
I realise that makes me sound quite mad and I’m sure that when I hug my curtains from John Burns Drive, my first big girl home of 25 years ago, I will appear even madder.
The fact that these curtains have been in the roof for 20 years and are unlikely to come out again means that their journey down the loft ladder will probably be their last.
I’m still going to have a bloody good cry though. They were my pride and joy. My lovely top floor flat in Barking could well have been a Penthouse in Manhattan. It was that wonderful.
I guess a good sign that an item is no longer useful is when it’s still in the removal box from the last home.
And our Christmas department would rival Selfridges.
The fact that we have a tree with three sides – is precisely what makes us the people that we are.
The fact that we have several other trees is evidence that we have aspirations to muscle in on the Harrods Parade.
And having stored clothes from Age 0-50 also means we could deck out floors 1-5 too.
And then there’s the cards. Every card of The Kid’s for the last 10 years – birth, Christmas and birthday. My cards, my parents cards and cards to and from people I don’t actually know. That is going to be tricky.
And shock horror – the 18th & 21st keys. That’s half the loft for starters.
Do people even have these keys anymore? Do people even know what they are?
Such a rite of passage to receive and yet they serve no purpose, other than to sit in the loft.
Then comes Memory Boxes – and – well let’s just say it’s rubbed off on The Kid.
My memory boxes contain everything that’s ever made me smile, laugh or cry. That’s one hell of a lot of things.
The Kid now has a memory section of her own and I only have myself to blame.
So my question today is :
‘Is it possible to be sentimental when you have no space?’
What do people do with their ‘stuff’?
The upside of all of this is that I get to exercise my creative side and start planning what it’s going to look like.
This is the fun bit. One bedroom, one bathroom.
20 million colours and designs to choose from. Not very long to do so.
No particular ideas as yet, other than a few thoughts around copper and silver.
I shall be checking in again with more thoughts around colours and designs soon.
If you don’t hear from me, it will probably be because I’m trying to decide on a sink!
Until next time