Bearing Down

I have to start taking my wardrobe apart tonight.  That might be the most singularly boring thing I've ever written.  A chap is coming for it on Thursday and I don't trust myself to manage the demounting all in one evening.  It was a fucker to put together and no doubt it will be a reverse fucker to take apart.

I have to find some logical thing to decant my clothes into.  I suspect this will be a sophisticated system of identical cardboard boxes.  Fortunately nothing much requires ironing (even more so as I got rid of the iron).  My usual look is "got dressed in Oxfam at night", so that's OK.

If I were a hibernating bear (or an estivating one, who had got the sleep thing arse about face), or a rich person who had people do everything for her, I could wake up one day to find I was neatly in London.  There will be nothing neat about this transition.  This is going to be a big bundle of fuck.

I am tempted to just make a bonfire in the back yard and burn everything.  This is possibly against local by-laws, but I could claim insanity.  A jury of my peers, etc.