As we wait patiently(!) to exchange contracts with our vendor, we are busy shedding things we don’t want to take with us.
I was about to leave for a weekend walking with my chums when I saw Nigel eyeing a tangle of coathangers on the landing.
His previous coathanger cast aways have resulted in wardrobe mayhem when offspring returned home with their garments, so this time, I thought I’d check on Whatsapp.
Me: We are plotting to have a cull of coathangers. If you need any spares left in your wardrobes for when you are home, please say how many and what type. x
Carenza: Iwill count my coathangers and let you know in due course.
But I will say this: my coathangers are very dear to me so please choose carefully the ones you cast away.
Perran:Could I have around 15 spares please. No shit ones if possible. Thanks.
(Actually, Perran, when I asked what type, I meant “trouser” or “jacket”)
Pascoe: About three spares would do me.
Me: Wow – coathangers get a quick response.
Then it all got a bit silly.
|Perran: The anger|
|Pascoe: The Fear|
|Me: The Problem|
|Perran: The Solution|
|Nigel: Let the Cull Commence.|
What will happen when we try to throw out something that actually MATTERS?