Farewell, 1 Stoppard Street

That’s it.  Today’s the day. Roll sleeves up and clear Pascoe out of his student house for the last time.  I look up the address of the local dump, sure we’ll need it.  However, the day turns out to be a delicately choreographed tango with FreeCycle and there is very little waste.  Freecycle giveth and Freecycle taketh away.

We wipe, hoover, dust, sweep.

Other housemates will be coming and going over the next few weeks until the contract runs out, so there is only so much we can do.  This is in a way a comfort as even after a couple of hours of scrubbing, I still wouldn’t feel entirely comfortable with “Hello” magazine taking my celebrity pictures in there.

For me, emblematic of student life are a pair of “hairy hand” Halloween gloves.  They lie abandoned on the bookshelf.

“Do you want these, Pascoe?”

“No.  We’ve had a lot of fun with them over the years, but I don’t think I’ll need them again.”

He puts them in the bin.  I nearly cry.

We feel sad as we slam the car doors and say goodbye to the house. Even more sad when, just after we’ve dropped the key through the landlord’s letterbox, we realise Pascoe’s kettle and toaster are still in the house.

Farewell, 1 Stoppard Street.  Farewell kettle and toaster.

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