House Crap

How is it that in a relatively short amount of time you can accumulate the most staggering quantites of random housecrap? I was summoned (in that voice she used to use when rollocking me for leaving teaspoons on top of the dishwasher) by my mum yesterday to remove the boxes and boxes of random housecrap that ended up being stored in one of her spare rooms during our last housemove. So off I go, armed with binbags on the grounds that surely if I've managed to go without this stuff for 3 months I don't need any of it. But I made the fatal schoolboy error – yes, I decided to go through the boxes to see if there was anything I should keep. So now I still have 5 boxes of housecrap to find a home for (I suspect they'll end up in the loft) and 2 binbags of stuff to go to the tip. In my random housecrap I found 17 cigarette lighters. This concerns me for 2 reasons:

1) It clearly means I am some sort of mentally unstable hoarder who is going to end up in a house packed to the rafters with the detritus of 5 decades of housecrap collecting, surrounded by cats and sporting an egg stained grey dressing gown. This was not in my life plan and is going to have to be addressed before I end up as a feature on 'Life of Grime'.

2) I only ever remember buying 2 lighters in my entire 10 year smoking career which evidently means I am not only a mentally unstable hoarder, I am also a thief. Oh dear.

I wonder if hypnotherapy could cure me of this bizarre compulsion to store everything I come across 'just in case I need it'? And if they give a discount for a double booking because while I was under they might as well deal with the spider issue as well.

 

In other news:

  • I accidentally sent a text message meant for a collegue to my ex boyfriend this morning. How an I such a complete arse? It's a mystery to many. I bloody well knew I should have erased his number because it's not like I've spoken to him in the last 3 and a bit years, ever since his girlfriend barred him from having any contact with me. I am indeed a complete pillock. Fortunately I only signed it 'Vik' so I don't hink he twigged it was me. That's what I'm going to keep telling myself. And the reply "You've sent a a message to the wrong person" doesn't give me any further clue.
  • I am trying to decide whether to have a party at mine for my birthday. On the good side it's cheap and I'm skint plus you always end up with masses of booze left over so I won't have to but any iwne for a bit. On the down side it means I'll have to clean the house (i am no domestic goddess) and I don't have a dishwasher.
  • I have finally come to the conclusion that the solution to the odd and disturbing noise that my car is making is not to keep turning the radio up but is to take it to the garage. Time for another round of "oooh, (head scratch, sigh) we'll have to order the part love, it might be expensive".

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