Every. Single. Time

Two or three times a year my local council has a “scheduled clean-up collection”, which involves a big truck coming around and taking away all your unwanted household items.

You’d think that since I’ve been living in my local council area for more than 15 years I’d have the hang of it by now and be prepared.

But no.

It blindsides me every single time.

I invariably turn into my street on a Sunday afternoon and see crap piled up on everyone else’s nature strip and gnash my teeth in fury that I’ve forgotten YET AGAIN.

What follows is a random, frantic flinging of goods rather than a measured, strategic one.

And that’s how I spent my yesterday.

I had been planning on flicking through sale racks in local boutiques. Instead I was scrabbling around for an Allen key to break down the huge, grid-like IKEA unit that has been shoved in the middle of the spare room for the past couple of years, gathering dust and rendering the room unuseable.

It was originally bought for a huge living room when we lived in part of a crumbling sandstone mansion in Hunters Hill.

I had been putting off deconstructing it because I felt guilty about adding it to land fill, but I’ve had the bloody thing for 19 years, so I reckon it has served its wobbly time.

I piled all the books and DVD’s and wonky kids’ clay sculptures that had been sitting on it on the floor. My hallway now looks like a episode of Hoarders.

Deciding what to do with it all is a job for another day. (NB That is not my house in the main pic, but it’s not far off.)

The bits of shelving were joined by a decrepit foam surfboard, a mouldy cane chair and two rusty old bikes.

It felt very therapeutic to be rid of them all. The bikes and chair have already been taken by passers by. I just hope the pieces of bookcase aren’t rejected for being oversized.

Then I dropped the youngest at skipping training and ducked up to DD’s place for dinner.

He made a beef casserole and mash that were absolutely delicious.

He’d also stoked his fire pit so we could nestle beside it with a glass of wine. And he nearly burnt his fingers off taking a wine selfie for me before I arrived.

He’s a good boyf.

Then he patiently listened as I told him about all my latest crazy schemes and ideas. I’m feeling myself again after a few months of flu and menopausal misery. My brain is fizzing with ideas and excitement.

It’s a little intense, but preferable to me weeping.

As I drove home I couldn’t resist detouring to the beach to admire the moon and the trail of glittering gold it was leaving across the ocean.

Gorgeous, but impossible to photograph on an iphone.