Dustbins
I’ve spent today completing stage 4 of my annual clear-out of unwanted items. It always bring me great satisfaction throwing things away, although to be honest they are never actually my things to start with. In fact they belong to Mrs Boris and the children.
Of course they don’t realise that they have ‘unwanted items’ which is why the proces has four stages. And why my annual clear-out really does take all year.
Stage 1 starts in about March-April, when I review toy cupboards and wardrobes for things that I think are surplus to needs. Over the course of three months, I move these items to the back of their respective cupboards, or hide them in old suitcases. This has to be done slowly and over a long period of time if it is to work. A broken toy here, a cracked vase there. Items that have not been missed by their owners after three months in hiding can then move to stage 2.
Stage 2 also takes up to three months to achieve. This stage comprises hiding things in the attic, in such a way that if someone says ‘what happened to by green cardigan?’ or ‘where is that teddy with one eye missing?’, I can lay my hand quickly and easily on the offending item, without revealing that there are 101 other things concealed in the same place. Actually getting items from the backs of wardrobes to the attic requires, I might say, a great deal of skill and cunning. One mistake – a button on the stairs, or a piece of jigsaw puzzle on the landing – and the whole plan backfires.
For stage 3 the timing and handling is again critical. Sooner or later Mrs Boris and the children notice that there is now space in the wardrobes for new clothes, and go out together to spend as much money as possible on filling them back up again. I need to act quickly. The moment they leave, I get to work. But they are rather a forgetful family, and often come straight back to check the oven is turned off, or to collect a purse, just a few minutes after setting off. On more than one occasion I’ve had to think quickly to explain why I’m running down the stairs from the attic when they thought I was happily planting seeds in the garden.
Now I throw all the things in the pile in the attic into large black plastic sacks, and put them all in a dark corner of the shed. Luckily no-one else ever goes in there, since it is dark, damp and crawling with all manner of vermin, and I can hide whatever I like.
There everything stays, a final three months during which ‘lost’ items can still be found by clever-old Dad. A bit damp and mouldy perhaps, but retrievable all the same.
Stage 4, today, is the highlight of the whole process. Anything remaining in the shed has now spent a year without being missed, so I can safely assume it will never be missed. So, with a cheery wave and a claim that I’m off to buy the bread, I throw the whole lot in the back of the car and drive it to the tip, to be rid of it forever.
As a side note I will mention some friends of ours who stayed with us and told us that they were fascinated by the number of cars they saw folloing the signs for the dechetterie, and followed them to make sure they wern’t missing out on something exciting. They weren’t. Dechetterie, if you didn’t know, is French for ‘municipal dump’. A lovely trip out on your holiday, I’m sure.
Anyway, apart from the time I accidentally threw out a valuable Victorian gold sovereign – Mrs Boris had concealed it in the pocket of a loved, but never worn, coat – I think i’ve got away with it so far. So now this afternoon I will get back to stage 1 again, in readiness for 2007.