So yesterday was the great clear out and the men came today to put in the new insulation.
They were very nice, relatively quick and our loft is now replete with a cosy winter duvet. Even the hatch has its own little comfort blanket. We should be toasty warm throughout whatever slings and arrows of outrageous seasonal rubbish is slung at us. However….
Putting all the stuff back into the loft might not be as easy as getting it out. A trip to the dump and a visit to the charity shop dealt with our excess baggage. There was quite a bit that was ‘not wanted on voyage’ and we were delighted to be rid of it. The remainder is of course very precious and needs to be stored. But we have less room than before. The joists have disappeared in a fog of fibreglass – did you know it’s made from recycled bottles? It has never occurred to me before – and now we don’t have any way to know where those joists are. Unless we undo all the good work that was done today.
Short of clambering around blind, trying not to stick our feet through the ceiling, we are left with only the central boarded section of the roof. That is, about a third of the roof space. Maybe we should have had the whole thing boarded out instead.
So now we are in the throes of attempting to reduce our storage still further. Very frustrating. And not a little problematic.
In the midst of this considerable disarray, we ought to be clearing up – the house is full of ‘stuff’ from the loft – when I want to be writing (or at least preparing hats etc. for the week-end) – and I am trying to get ready for a talk on the History of Silk tomorrow for the History Society. John’s doing the bulk of it – what I call the sex and violence bit – and I’m painting my way through the years, demonstrating the art of painting on silk as practiced by countless bods down through the ages. Rethinking the contents of the loft is not on the agenda for this week. Or any week, for that matter. I’ve been there, done that and have no particular desire to do it all over again.
Hope this week isn’t going to turn into last week, where nothing gets done and it’s Friday before I know it. Beat me over the head with my own sentimental box of photographs, but I’ve had enough of this.
Maybe this is the time to go with my minimalist principles and just throw the whole lot out. But will I regret it? Come tomorrow, will I bemoan the loss of a lifetime’s treasures and have to rummage in the bin to get them all back? And if I do, where am I going to store them?
Excuse me, my head hurts. I have to go away and paint something.