It’s been a mad weekend.
Friday (though not the weekend) was mad.
Saturday was mad.
Sunday was mad-ish.
I feel that I went to work on Monday just to get away from the mad.
I am closing down a storage unit where most of my furniture, some clothing, and the majority of my ‘other’ belongings have been for the last two years.
The idea is that as the work on the house completes, space will become available, and I can bring my things in to the home.
Obviously there won’t be room in the house for absolutely everything, some things will stay in their boxes, and will shift to storage in the garage, or in the loft.
And some things will just get binned, after many years of loyal service *sniff*.
But the majority of things should be OK.
I had the trusty Man With A Van service booked for between 09.30 – 10.00 on Saturday.
I’d spent a few days beforehand making space at the house, tidying, and at the storage unit, starting to filter what I might be able to throw away.
On Saturday 09.30 came. And went.
So too did 10.00.
By 10.15 I had started phoning the Man With A Van company (straight to voicemail), and texting their mobile numbers (I have two).
By 10.30 there was a solid and consistent lack of response to (now) two voicemails and two texts.
By 10.45 the clock was fast approaching the point of no return, as I had to be out of the unit before Monday.
Sam made calls and found a van hire place in Long Eaton.
I knew I couldn’t move all that stuff myself, so started texting people who I thought might help out as paid labour.
I also asked Mark, off of Marks Munchies, the on-site café where the storage unit is.
Mark said he knew of someone who could probably step in. I offered a price. Mark said he’d get back to me.
I drove home to get my licence and the usual paperwork, and drove to Long Eaton to pick up a large van with a tail-lift.
As I was completing the paperwork for the van hire, Mark’s friend rang to say he was ready, willing and able, and was waiting for me at the storage unit.
I was just about to set off in the van when I got a text from an unrecognised number that said:
Hi just to let you know the driver is running late it will be about 2-2.30 when he gets to you thanks
I called the number. It was the wife of the Man With A Van.
I told Mrs Man With A Van that she was too late, that I was going to do this job by myself, and that I’d left various messages on Mr Man With A Van’s phone/voicemail throughout the morning, and a final message telling him he was off the job.
Mrs Man With A Van said Mr Man With A Van hadn’t told him any of this.
By 12.30 I was back at the storage unit, and we had prioritised the loading. Because I’m a planner. It’s what I do.
We grafted. We grafted hard.
At 15.30 we had filled the van, leaving only a few items behind that could be taken care of the next day.
That cup of tea we had, as soon as we got to the house, was most welcome.
We grafted hard. Again.
By 16.45 all of the heavy items had been put away.
We left the smaller, lighter items in the back of the van overnight, and I took my helping pair of hands home.
I was back at the house by 17.15, but unfortunately this meant that we had missed the viewing of Despicable Me 3 that I had booked tickets for.
But I was probably too knackered to sit in the cinema and not fall asleep.
On Sunday I finished unloading the van and ruthlessly tore in to the task of sorting stuff in to the categories of:
- Keep (use)
- Keep (store)
- Car boot
Then I took the van back to the hire place, drove back to the storage unit where I met Sam, where we filled the two cars with the left-overs, and went home.
More ruthless categorising took place.
And as a result of all that, I have a number of items on eBay, a large pile of stuff for a car boot sale, and a need for a skip.
I’m also very knackered.
That joke about going to work for a rest?