I’m worried I might end up roaming the streets M

OVING house makes you take stock of life.

Where has all the stuff come from? How much can you take with you when downsizing? What memories will go in a skip?

What items of furniture will the British Heart Foundation shop accept?

The Hospice shop accepted suits made for a chap with short legs, but did I leave any £20 notes in the inside pockets? And will they want the brica-brac we have acquired even though I hate bric-a-brac. Where did that come from?

How on earth are we going to transport all these books? How will we get certain items out of certain rooms? I don’t think they’ll go through the door or down the stairs from the loft conversion because I bought them flat pack and built them in situ.

That’s one reason the wardrobe is staying. The other is because it’s the Leaning Wardrobe of Honley – a bit like the Tower in Pisa – and is unlikely to survive manhandling. When I made it, I had parts left over. Possibly stabilisers. I’ve often thought any furniture I constructed needed stabilisers, like on a kid’s bike.

A man has been to the new house to measure for carpets but my major concern is getting wi-fi connected. If it takes any length of time, I could be wandering the streets looking for a hot spot and sitting on cardboard, under a blanket writing this column.

Mind you, I could make a few bob if passers-by take sympathy and tag me for homeless. “Here’s a cup of soup, love.” “What is it?” “Mushroom.” “Don’t like mushrooms.” “Ungrateful swine.”

How to lose the spirit of Christmas in one easy lesson.

I have tried to remain aloof from the trauma of moving, but now it is so close the stress is gathering.

Never mind planning for the weekend, I think I may just have to go to the pub. Just for the one, of course. I have tried to remain aloof from the trauma of moving, but now it is so close the stress is gathering.