At 4.30pm today I powered my laptop down, put it neatly away in the cupboard (deliberately left unlocked in the hope that somebody will steal it & I can have a new one...), and went home. Yay! Needless to say the trip wasn't particularly quick, and when I finally lumbered into Newport, the newsagent had already shut. I was a bit peeved, I have to say, that nobody consulted me about this change to their hours. The newsagent was always really reliable, 6.30am to 7.00pm. It changed hands this year, to new people who I think may be struggling a bit with the reality of running a busy shop, and the hours entailed in a newsagent, and so... bam. Bugger.
Anyway, I missed out on the opportunity to spend more money on things I don't really need, because, since I'm working again, I've resubscribed to House & Garden & Homes & Antiques, which are a very guilty pleasure... and I certainly don't need any more magazines. I already have them in boxes on the living room floor, because all the bookcases are full.
Did I mention about my clearing out spurt the other day? I've been slowly identifying things I don't need anymore (define need, could you?), and those things have been working their way out of the confusing maze of stuff that is our house, and into the various charity bins, op-shops, junk piles, council clean-ups and garbage bins that surround me. Last Sunday (no, not the one I spent asleep, the one before that) I went through my wardrobe & pulled out all my work skirts. I never wear skirts to work anymore. I have several pairs of black trousers, none of which fit me properly anymore, [since I started Upholstery school, and lost that very unattractive 10 kilos that was making me look like Rosie O'Donnell... but I digress (for a change)], and they were just hanging in the wardrobe in the spare room, taking up room.
Why in the spare room, I hear you ask, Gentle Readers... well. Most of them are too long to hang in the normal wardrobe, which has four hanging sections, two top & two bottom, two for me & two for Mr Golightly. Well, actually, one for Mr Golightly, two for me & one full of stuff, some of which features heavily in this tale.
Anyway, I stripped down to the fundamentals, and tried every one of those poor neglected skirts on. Most of them still fitted me, but I looked at myself, with my wonky knee, my flat feet and my sandfly bite scars, and just went... ick. So, all the straight, knee length 'office' skirts, some of which had matching jackets, went into the 'give away' bag. Some of the matching jackets followed, including the awful maroon & beige boucle one I bought in a fit of madness one day, which was a crop style, with tight fitting sleeves, and made me look like...
this. Except for a few things - I'm not a blonde, I have no tan & I don't wear white shoes. And I'm also not quite that fat. Apart from that, the resemblance is quite scary.
Anyway, that went. Also, and I do regret this a little bit, a beautiful Anthea Crawford silk slub skirt in lilac, with a really discrete yellow, green & darker purple... but I hadn't worn it for over two years, and I wasn't going to. I know it in my logic brain, but my much larger sentimental brain is still going "I loved that little lemming". Sorry, Red Dwarf moment.
I threw out silk blouses I'd made, linen ones I bought with cap sleeves (way too irritating), some cotton shirts I'd had for more than 10 years which were never going to see the light of day again, and even some trousers (too small, too big, too flared, too straight, too long, too short). It was quite cathartic. Then I started on the shoes. Mostly clumpy ones designed to take orthotics, in the days before they realised that you could still wear nice shoes and support your fallen arches...
And then, Gentle Readers, I started on Mr Golightly's side of the wardrobe. Phew. I need to go & have dinner now, before I reveal all. Let's just say it was very scary.