Hoarding and dumping
Mrs Kenny and I filled with a degree of steely resolve this morning, and we decided to take quite a few things to the recycling dump, and to a charity shop and generally sort out a corner of the house. First the triage of frowning at bits and wondering under what combination of circumstances, a meteorite strike, invasion of giant rats etc. would something remain useful. Useless things are dragged to the car. I always feel guilty going to the dump. The very name dump gives it a Freudian association with defecation, as if your house were having a poo. You void your junk from the boot of the car, hoping people aren't looking to closely at what you are dropping off, and then speed away feeling curiously liberated. Explaining this to Lorraine, she suggested this isn't an entirely helpful way of thinking about it. Home and companionably listening with Lorraine to the end of the 36 Views of Mount Fuji by Cathy N. Davidson audiobook. In the evening, collected Anton and then mad...