Yesterday, I went over to supervise the final clearance of what has been the family home for over 63 years. We went there in 1962, when I was a nervous 7-year-old, and there’s something obscurely satisfying in being 70 when we finally say goodbye to it. Much stuff had gone to family members, or to charity shops, but there was two very full van loads of stuff from house, garage, and garden.
The day itself went OK: I was up at 0415 to get there for about 8am, having had a very bad night hovering on the edge of panic attacks and periods of really struggling for breath. However, once we got stuck in to the “doing things” I was fine. My dear friend Clare nobly volunteered to drive over to collect me, and I am extremely grateful for her support! Getting home around 6pm, almost straight to sleep, though I did get up briefly around 8 to have supper and a hot bath (muscles for the unknotting of). Even once I’d knocked off the times I was on trains and in cars, the pedometer showed well over 15 thousand steps – way above my usual “aim for 5 thousand, limit is 10 thousand” steps. So today I am recovering from physical and emotional stresses: the most strenuous thing planned is filling in the Waitrose order.
