In some ways I love moving house. Yes, it's exhausting, stressful, sad, exhilarating and never ending - if you have a fair amount of stuff, as we do. The 'I love moving' element is the purging of accumulated afore-mentioned stuff - where allowed to . . . Mark is a bit of a hoarder; all relevant or in some cases, nostalgic things, but I'd happily throw out more. He is a musician however, and not a piccolo player - piano, accordion, cello, percussion, etc, as well as an academic so the piles and stacks of papers, books, records and associated items are difficult to part with.
He's done well so far, especially in tackling his hoard of 'every program of any music event he has ever been to'. There were I think fifty box files of pamphlets, A4 sheets and books all stretching back to his adolescent years and up to the present date. He's culled the collection to fifteen, and I think he would admit it was in some ways a cathartic experience.
Last time we moved I took several van fulls of stuff to charity shops and the tip - probably partly things we had brought with us from a previous and less purge-worthy move - the one where we left the UK and the panic before the move was such that a lot of what-the-hell-is-this . . . what-shall-I do-with-it things remained with us.
I've managed to part with a mass of objects that have been with me since London styling days; brocante props and other boot sale finds along the years. I may still do that teashop/book shop/antique den but I'm fed up with seeing the potential stock, move after move, so it's going and has already gone partly to a story-worthy dealer who rubbed his hands in a Heep like fashion as he went around the house leaving no bit of china unturned.
My stacks of manuscripts were burned in a sort of ceremony before the last move and I'll probably do it again this time, just keeping the most recent copies - it's somehow worrying to part with them but what's the point of holding onto all those earlier edits and junked ideas . . . unless I suddenly become intensely famous in which case . . . nope. It's all going.
And then there's the 'Hey! the copy of techniques des autopsies that I found in a boot sale for 2 euros is listed at 350 euros on Abe books.' Plus all the other old 'could be worth something' books we own. I tried a few attempts at selling online but unless you are in the dealer world it's a soul crushingly waste of time. So . . . techniques des autopsies with its delightful and gruesome 1920s drawings will probably come with us along with many other books until we open that teashop/bookshop/antique emporium . . .
Mark sorting through his box files
Do I really need old list-diary books . . . and scraps of lyrics. Nope, photo, then bin . . .
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