To have and to keep hold of? Not a chance...

It’s not so much a spring clean but a winter one for Fiona, whose mother is heading north, thankfully not with all of her possessions

E ventually we manage to get out by car – and what a relief that is.

When the snow kept us captive in the house there was nothing for it but to clean and sort.

So I cleaned and sorted while the chief read his book.

But now we are mobile again I can move on – to clean and sort some more...

After years of cajoling and pressurising, a set of steep stairs and a broken leg has finally decided it.

My parents are moving up to be near us.

Hurrah! No more mercy dashes down to England at odd times of the day and night. No more worries about whether the heating works, or the right bin has been put out at the right time.

They are coming to live in a neat bungalow. It sits on a housing estate, overlooking a loch and offers neighbourhood security and great views. What could be better?

But first we must sort the old place: a large Victorian semi which they have lived in for more than half a century.

This is where I grew up – and like most homes, it is a mix of memories and mess. Of treasures and tat.

The tat is the first to go. Which means numerous trips to the recycling with stereos that no longer work, plates that are cracked and towels that have seen better days.

My mother tries to hang on to things. But the beds bought when they acquired the property must also go.

I tell her that a lumpy 50-year-old mattress is no longer acceptable. She tells me the beds are all quite comfortable, thank you very much… In the end we compromise.

One of the beloved beds will be moved north. The other three must go.

After all, there is a limit to what can happily fill a bungalow.

The large furniture is more easily decided on. It is the smaller things – the pictures, pottery and plates – that are harder to choose or discard.

My mother was a great hunter of the past. She was at every second-hand sale and flea market. Her collection of glass birds is second to none.

The problem is, where will it all go in this downsizing venture?

We wash and stack things on the dining room table. And where will that go?

How do you get a large piece of Victorian mahogany elegance into a narrow modern kitchen?

One of the beloved beds will move north. The other three must go

There seem to be a million tea towels. There are enough blankets to warm the whole of Iceland.

Glasses galore that could cater for the crowds on Princes Street at Hogmanay…

I tell myself that we have time. Well, some time.

I remind my mother that possessions drag you down. As a wise man once said: What are possessions, but that you worry that someone will take them from you?

We are sorting drawers of socks as I relay these words of wisdom. She does not look convinced.