If your hoose is onything like mine, as soon as one jobbie’s finished, another one rears its heid.
So it came to pass, after my grandtoots’ remarkable feat of clearing the junk in the Pokey Room, I clocked I needed a new carpet. Ah, but… my bedroom carpet was even worse. Daft to do one withoot the other.
Took measurements, doon to the carpet shoppie, zip-zip, plastic blitzed. I’d forgotten how much of a hassle it is. Not only have you to clear the room, but find space for everything you move. The Pokey was nae problem. After repainting, my kindly pinter took the single bed to the tip. Desk moved to the twin bedroom. Easy-peasy. Carpet laid Monday. Perfect.
Then I into a panic aboot the logistics of clearing my room, especially the muckle king-sized bed which, given stappit-foo drawers underneath, weighs a damn sight more than a ton. I’d have to get my loon and loon-in-law to hawl it oot and stow it… far? Oot in the street? Then back to reverse the jobbie after laying.
However, help was at hand from the carpet mannie. He assured me they’d be able to work without having to remove the bed. Back o’ the net! But, he added: “If you want the carpet carried into your two fitted cupboards, the base of them will need to be cleared.” I was that ower the moon wie the news that the bed could stay put, I barely registered fit he meant.
Until, yesterday, the horrible truth struck. The cavernous bottoms of my fitted wardrobes are dark dungeons of decades of “stuff”. Armed with plastic storage boxes, I doon on my hurdies and peered into the first.
Unearthing a Trueform treasure trove
Yonks ago, I decided I’d be really organised. Instead of just piling shoes on top of each other in a complete kirn, I’d store them in their boxes. So, my first wardrobe has boxes piled to almost halfway up, most of which haven’t been opened, let alone their contents worn, in years. And I used to laugh about Imelda Marcos.
Wedding shoes, bridesmaids’ and night-oot shoes, summer sandals, winter boots of various lengths, hikers, trainers, flip-flops, winter slippers, summer ditto, loadsa heels – just as if!
Many bought from Hotter after I discovered their sheen were so comfy and didnae bleed my heels, as most others did during my life. Some never even worn, including turquoise sandals I’d have bought if I’d seen them in the catalogue last week!
Because I barely ever wear more than aboot three of them from this Trueform treasure trove – probably because I couldna see them – they’re all sort of attached to each other by flimsy bitties of cobweb. Yuch.
Fit a fool, orra quine I am. But will I really be able to chuck the lot? Or box them for “another day”.
Moreen Simpson is a former assistant editor of the Evening Express and The Press & Journal, and started her journalism career in 1970
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