Moving as therapy

Anyone reading who has made the move to Australia already knows about the tough and eclectic quarantine regulations. I can understand the desire to protect what is a unique ecosystem - but I do fail to see how my wicker dining chairs from Next pose a threat to Australia's flora and fauna. We could take a risk and pack all this FMD (furniture of mass destruction) hoping that the customs staff are impressed by our sense of interior design. Trouble is - if they put flora and fauna before fixtures and fittings - then the wicker chairs are a no-no. Given that the decontamination costs are apparently enormous and I don't fancy sitting down to eat on something that has been irradiated and probably glows in the dark, we have decided to get rid. And you know us gays - once one element of the look has gone, well the whole thing is ruined. Just ruined.

So we are having a clearout. Gus is in his element. This combines two of his favourite activities - actually three. Cleaning, organising and telling me what to do. My duties seem mainly to involve taking stuff to the tip - or recycling centre as West Berks council now like to call it. The garage is now divided into clearly delineated areas - stuff we are selling, stuff we are giving away, stuff we can actually take with us (worryingly the smallest pile) and stuff for landfill - sorry recycling.

I do wonder how we managed to collect so much in the first place - we could open a hotel with all the bedlinen we have - but all this clearing out is remarkably liberating. And the more we do, the more I realise just how much of an adventure the next few years are going to be.