Just waffling. Don't mind me

Coffee and smoke break.

I have packed some of the games, and collapsed a set of shelves ready for transport tomorrow. I don't think there's much more I can do tonight in the kitchen - there's no bloody room. The boxes I already have are taking up the space I need to be in to get at other items and pack them.

I guess after this break it will be a case of filling another bin bag of junk from the bedroom, and then dusting off the suitcase and filling it with those clothes I don't need in a hurry.

I don't actually know why I'm chronicling all this; it barely interests me, let alone anyone out there. I guess it's just to remind me in the future what the outcome of years of hoarding is. Of course, that excuse presupposes I ever re-read any of this stuff.

It occurs to me that after the move, it will be a bit silly continuing to use the sobriquet Sir Bryan de Clapham since I shall be about as far away from the place as you can be and still remain in London. Maybe it's time I awarded myself a new and equally meaningless title. Move into the lower nobility, as it were.

The First Baron Whetstone, perhaps. Coat of arms: radial tyre sable surmounting oil patch gules...

Later: That's it. I've had enough. Shower and telly. All remaining packing can wait until another day.

Just waffling. Don't mind me

Coffee and smoke break.

I have packed some of the games, and collapsed a set of shelves ready for transport tomorrow. I don't think there's much more I can do tonight in the kitchen - there's no bloody room. The boxes I already have are taking up the space I need to be in to get at other items and pack them.

I guess after this break it will be a case of filling another bin bag of junk from the bedroom, and then dusting off the suitcase and filling it with those clothes I don't need in a hurry.

I don't actually know why I'm chronicling all this; it barely interests me, let alone anyone out there. I guess it's just to remind me in the future what the outcome of years of hoarding is. Of course, that excuse presupposes I ever re-read any of this stuff.

It occurs to me that after the move, it will be a bit silly continuing to use the sobriquet Sir Bryan de Clapham since I shall be about as far away from the place as you can be and still remain in London. Maybe it's time I awarded myself a new and equally meaningless title. Move into the lower nobility, as it were.

The First Baron Whetstone, perhaps. Coat of arms: radial tyre sable surmounting oil patch gules...

Later: That's it. I've had enough. Shower and telly. All remaining packing can wait until another day.