You all know I’ve tried really hard at this minimalism thing right….
Earlier this month we moved house, and cities. Goodbye to the dirty, mattress filled streets of London, hello to the sophisticated lanes of one of the world’s great University towns. Or more accurately the rather more standard redevelopment area south of the train station because that’s all we can afford.
Anyway, when I moved down to London I got everything here in a long-wheelbase transit (I would never suppose that I could do such a move in a standard van, such a thing would be ridiculous). I would say that it was well filled, but not jam-packed. Alas, and even after a further two rounds of removals from my life and a culling of my shopping habits, apparently I now actually have more stuff! I cannot emphasise how panicky and stressful it is to have 2 hours left to pick up keys, knowing you are 1 h and 50 minutes drive away and that the hoover and various light-shades are still not in the van. It also doesn’t feel great to have your partner sitting with the spare wheel for the van up against him for the whole drive…
Some excuses before self-flagellation:
- A whole extra person lives with me! He bought at least one large holdall of clothes. But he is also one of nature’s minimalists, the bastard.
- A lot of my furniture was built-in in Manchester, so I had to buy a chest of drawers, a cupboard and some book shelves.
Anyway, once we had got into the new place, had a cheeky Nando’s and all calmed down a bit my partner requested, politely, that I get rid of some more of my god-damn sh*t. There now exists a couple of square foot of floor covered with goods to go, and a renewed mission to sort this out once and for all… so watch this space!