Spring means change.....

It is Spring. That means cleaning. Throwing out stuff. Tidying. Sorting. De-cluttering. Or is means that it is time to get out in the garden, plant things, water seeds. I seem to be in the middle of all the above.

I woke late on Sunday and decided that my room needed sorting. Well, that could have something to do with the pile of clothes on the table at the end of the bed which threatened to rival the nearest mountain for height actually. The average British house has very small bedrooms, people. VERY small. And all my furniture came from South Africa, and some of it belonged to my grandparents, and so it is sturdy, oak, old, heavy, and very large. So large that, with 2 chests of drawers in my bedroom, and a bed and bedside table, it was almost impossible to open any drawers. Not ideal WHEN ONE WANTS TO WEAR THE CLOTHES IN THE DRAWERS. Sigh.

Enter the son. He is home for a month on his spring holiday, and he is large and has formidable muscles. So there we were, the 2 of us in my small bedroom, and I was issuing instructions. Then we ended up with the queen size bed wedged firmly at an angle.

Right.

Plan B was not successful either - those heavy chests of drawers moved all round the room, and in the end, we had to stand the bed on its end to get anywhere. I helped a little now and then. He did most of it. I helped by making suggestions which he was not always happy to hear. Mothers are always helpful like that.

And in the course of the Great Change of the Bedroom, we had many rests and pauses for me to go through yet another pile of clothes. There are now 5 garbage bags full of clothes in my car, and I have not started on the cupboard yet. And today, another friend popped round to help Muscle Man to bring a huge chest of drawers down the stairs, because it is on its way OUT. Yes, I know it is old, oak and beautifully built. It is just too big and takes way too much space and holds way too little stuff.

We will swiftly skim over the 6 inches of dust which I discovered under the bed. My poor old Dyson had a hayfever attack. It was touch and go, but he recovered enough to get rid of most of the dust and is now on a holiday for a few days. Poor old machine. It is one of the very first Dysons. A pensioner.

So that is what I did yesterday. I was up and down those stairs way too many times, and today am paying for that. I look like the hunchback of Notre Dame. But the bed is moved. Not ideal, but better than before. I can also open the drawers. I can access my clothes. Progress indeed.