As I am off to the Liceu this evening - admittedly for an evening of ballet rather than opera, but that is how the season tickets tumble – I will deny myself the mucky pleasure of pointing out the corrupt sleaze that the Conservatives and presently mired in, led by a craven and despicable apology for a leader
who because of a ‘previous appointment’ cannot be in the commons to apologise or accept his knocks for his frankly appalling management of the Paterson Scandal.
I will instead, to keep my mind unscarred by justified vitriol, consider decluttering.
With the present state of my knees, which are little more than flesh covered bags of various sized marbles, our present abode is almost perfectly unsuitable. The house is spread over three floors with the ground floor containing only the garden and the entrance, while the living quarters start on the third floor. There is no lift, and the stairs are unyielding and narrow.
There is no bathroom on the first floor that contains the living room and the kitchen, so everything needs stairs.
My study (or hollowed out space in clutter) is on the third floor and that also has no bathroom. The result is, when you get where you want to be, you don’t move until you absolutely have to!
If, and given the way the health service has been knocked for six by the pandemic that is a big ‘if’, anything by way of an operation was considered to try and get my knees back to something approaching normality – then my house would emphatically NOT be the place to consider recuperation. This means that we now have to consider moving within the near future.
This is a sobering and frightening proposition.
Where I go, there also goes my library. And libraries, unless you are totally wedded to Kindle, is not something easily transportable. And my library is large.
Were I to move taking only my Art books and catalogues then I would be moving more books than most people have in their houses. And given that they are Art books, a damn sight heavier than the books most people have. And Art books are but one small part of my holdings.
In spite of what Toni says and believes, I have ‘rationalised’ by collection over the years. I did manage to shed a depressingly large section of my library in Cardiff (books, I might add, that I still resent having got rid of) and over the years in Castelldefels I have donated masses of books to educational establishments (and I resent their absence even more) but, and this is a sad, but entirely understandable fact, I have replaced the Lost Volumes with new and essential books that I NEED.
If I am realistic, I know that we are unlikely to find somewhere as commodious as our present place and that means that I will have to be bloody minded in cutting my holdings even further to the bone before we are able to move.
Yes, I know that there are some books that moved with me from Cardiff that I have not looked at or even opened since they were unpacked, but I know that they are there and THAT is the important point.
I also know that I can have the classics of English Literature (at least historical and out of copyright English Literature) stored electronically and I do have various books on my Kindle, but I also have the copies of the books in which I first read them. And I am and remain a ‘paper purist’ – there is nothing like actually turning the pages and feeling the heft of a volume in your hand.
Sooner, rather than later, reality is going to have to hit, and I am going to have to make some very hard choices. But I am putting my faith in prevarication and the liberal application of embrocation to stave off the evil day.
Long live the bound and printed word!
