Moving On

There has been a long silence on the blog, over a week of saying nothing I wasn't able to talk about something that was happening, hence the reason for my silence but at last I can speak again. Robbie made the difficult decision that after almost fifteen years it was time to leave the company that he works for and set his sights on pastures new. It has been a very big decision and it has occupied our thoughts for months, but it was very important to do things properly and I couldn't mention it on the blog until everything was agreed with his employer and his departure had been announced. He is still technically with the company for a few weeks longer, but he is now using up leave, his last working day was last Friday.

In the weeks leading up to his departure there were several important jobs to be done including emptying his cupboard and his desk. It sounds simple enough doesn't it, but this is Robbie that we are talking about! It took a huge amount of effort but thanks to the effort of two wonderful 'helpers' his cupboard was emptied - it is just as well that my Ford Galaxy has the rear seats removed because the contents of his cupboard filled the car. I thought that was the end of it but more bags and boxes followed as he emptied his desk - even a tardis couldn't hold that much 'stuff' so we now have a a lifetime of timetables that were taking up house room. It seems that he has several copies of every leaflet ever published by a train company, he also has the largest mug collection known to man and other sundry 'junk' that will fill at least 20 archive boxes!! By junk I mean old tickets, reservation slips and assorted stuff that 'normal' people would throw away. I have tried to be understanding but it is difficult, I feel as if I am drowning in clutter. I am ashamed to admit that you can't actually see our garage any more, the utility room has become a store room and all things railway related have invaded the bedroom!! Just occasionally I crave a a bit of 'normality'. When I told Robbie how I felt he told me that in 100 years time it will be an important historical archive. I wasn't as reassured by that as he expected, after all in 100 years (or even 50 years) I will not be around.

Cat Wars

Since just before Christmas we have been targeted by a rather beautiful cat. It kept getting in through our cat flap and hiding in the utility room. Getting it to leave proved easier said than done, each time we thought it had gone we locked the cat flap and blocked it up but within a day the cat would reappear as if by magic. I began to think that either it was a time traveller or a ghost, but the muddy footprints and mess that betrayed it's presence suggested that it was all too real. The utility room houses an accumulation of clutter that needs to be kept but doesn't really have a home, everything from deckchairs to the cat carrier. Robbie was afraid that it would hide behind the fittings or the general clutter and die of starvation, but it is still very much alive.


It would meow at the kitchen door asking to be let in but when we opened the door to the utility room it would vanish behind the fittings again. It became a bit of a myth, we could hear it, we see it's footprints but we never saw more than the tip of it's tail vanishing behind the shelves. Then last Thursday it came back again, and it had a swearing match with Dave (the cat) through the door that connects the kitchen with the utility room. That was the last straw, my daughter decided that something had to be done, but being a busy young woman she set her brother the task of catching the cat. It took him all evening but eventually the cat was caught and found to be healthy and apparently well fed. Having made sure that it could not get back in we evicted it in the hope that it would go home, but it sat by the window all night and meowed loudly. 

The cat is a very unusual colour, from a distance it looks as if it should be a ginger tabby but it has created just in 'grey scale'. On closer inspection it has a faded ginger colour mixed with grey and black, with two white feet and white under it's chin and down it's chest. So I think that makes it a tortoiseshell of sorts. I have read that it is very unusual to get a male tortoiseshell so it is probably a girl (it is not keen to let me inspect it from that angle) but I think it looks like a male. It was too complicated to keep calling it 'the cat' because we have two cats of our own, so we have called it Bernard after Nursie in Blackadder, a woman with a man's name.


We congratulated ourselves because we could not hear the cat meowing outside on Friday night, but our celebrations proved premature. A trip to the freezer (in the utility room) on Saturday revealed the truth - the cat has got in again!! It is unbelievable, I have no idea why it has chosen us. Robbie's cousin said "This kind of thing is going to happen when Robbie and Dave start surfing the internet looking for ginger cats..."

Cardboard Boxes

On Sunday we drove to Norton Canes to see Robbie's dad. I hate that journey, it is so boring and it seems to take forever, but it was important to go because his dad is moving in a few weeks and he had a few boxes of 'stuff' that he wanted Robbie to have. The last thing we need is any more 'stuff' but Robbie's dad was clear that if Robbie didn't want it it was going to the tip. I realiseed long ago that with Robbie it is a case of 'love me love my clutter' and I have to admit that my own life is far from clutter free, Perhaps that is just as well, I understood that the boxes at his dad's house just looked like boxes of junk in reality they were filled with memories and momentos from his childhood, his mum's china, his childhood birthday cards, photos and assorted bits and bobs that have no value except that they trigger long forgotten memories. How could I possibly object to him keeping such things. So this morning finds me in the lounge looking a a collection of cardboard boxes and wondering where on earth I am going to find space to store the contents. I think I will have to do some serious spring cleaning.

Not Wanted

Robbie's dad is moving house in a few weeks time. Robbie feels a bit sad about it as it will break the link with the village that he grew up in. When he was talking to his dad at the weekend Robbie arranged to go over and visit his dad next Saturday. His dad said that there was a lot of 'stuff' for Robbie to take home, so we would have to bring the car. I am suspicious of that word 'stuff' Robbie already has far too much clutter and I really don't know where to put any more! We need to be fairly ruthless in sorting out the junk that we already have. I agreed to drive to his Dad's house to pick up the stuff. I am not keen on driving that far north, it is such a boring journey and it seems to take forever to get there. I especially hate driving in Walsall because they don't seem to understand the difference between roads and pavements, it is like lemming year, people just dash out into the road! Anyway I was willing to drive to his dad's next Saturday, but to my surprise Robbie doesn't want me to go! His dad is having a bit of a get together for a few friends on Saturday evening, and Robbie wants to stay for that, he seems happy to take Sam with him, but he is worried that I will cramp his style! Never mind, I will have a nice day on my own instead.

Revenge! 27.07.07

I am so cross with Robbie. He arrived home a little earlier than usual yesterday and without any discussion he decided that he was going to go up and have a good sort out in the bedroom. I must confess that it needed it, we both have the hoarding gene, but Robbie feels the need to sleep within reach of everything that matters to him, railway books, piles of train magazines, crates and boxes of model trains, assorted DVD's, his beloved 7inch vinyl record collection and stacks of CD's. His extensive and sometimes alarming tie collection regularly bursts out of the wardrobe and 'decorates' the bedroom and the scene is not complete without a couple of randomly placed pairs of Dr Marten boots to fall over. So you see there is always plenty of scope for a sort out - and I haven't confessed to my clutter yet!

Robbie was missing for most of the evening and when I was finally allowed to go to bed I noticed that the ties had been recaptured and I didn't fall over anything so he had clearly made an impact on the room. I noticed that the ever present clutter on his side of the bed seemed to have been dusted and reorganised, but it had not diminished in quantity. I didn't think much about it because I was making plans to tidy my stuff and move the furniture around on Saturday while Robbie is out playing trains.

This morning I went downstairs and found two bin bags ready to go out to the black bin. I became suspicious when I noticed my scarf poking out of the bin bag and I questioned Robbie closely, he said the bag contained only his stuff and odd socks. I said that I would check it after he had go to work to make sure nothing of mine had accidentally crept into the bag. The sneaky little devil swiped the bag when I wasn't looking and took it out to the bin, and just to deter me from retrieving it he put the yucky bag from the kitchen bin on top of it. He should have known I am made of sterner stuff!, I recovered the bag and took it back into the house to sort through it. He had thrown away my new scarf and glove set, two other pairs of new gloves, a perfectly good and fairly new duvet cover, one of my leather purses, a selection of brand new packs of embellishments (used for scrapbooking), a glue gun, a magic stone that Sam collected for me, a pile of my family history magazines, and a variety of smaller things. Yes, there were some of his old clothes but there were no railway magazines or any other clutter belonging to him! I was furious. He felt it was OK to do that, but he goes mad if I throw one of his limp lefty daily papers away when it is days out of date!

Having attempted to reason with him and getting nothing resembling an apology I am calming myself with thoughts of cruel and unusual punishment! He is rather fond of his vast array of shirts, I wonder how he would feel if they all had a sleeve missing! Or perhaps his precious model deltic could accidentally drown in the washing up bowl. Maybe it would be unkind to switch his face cream with 'deep heat' but I am enjoying the thought!