Clutterfuck

They say moving house is one of the most stressful things in life. Along with marriage, divorce and having a baby.I would rather push something watermelon-sized through my pelvis right now, because moving house is turning out to be a right bloody palava.

In addition to the usual stress of sorting, boxes, packing, admin, transport, blah blah, we've had to deal with an uncertain house situation and now need to vacate the entire flat in less than a week if we're to get the most favourable contract solution.

Yesterday I started going through my stuff. This is what I learnt.

- Mice really like hanging out in my boxes of CDs which have sat under the lounge cabinet since we moved in over two years ago. I'm going to have to hand-clean every single CD and put them in a non-mouse-shitty box.

- I inexplicably have three pairs of wellies, AND riding boots. One pair of wellies had been in a carrier bag since Glastonbury 2008, and was still encrusted with the site's mud. I suspect that these contain some deadly strains of bugs last seen in the Edwardian slums, and should probably be burned by men in white protective suits, then buried off the coast somewhere.

- I have twenty handbags. I use about two.

- I own boxes of art stuff and stationery I've not opened or used in roughly four years, but I can't bring myself to part with it. What if I am suddenly gripped by the urge to do some collaging or something, and I don't have any Pritt Stick? It doesn't bear thinking about! At least I am safe in the knowledge that I have emergency  crayons.

- I wear roughly 8% of my wardrobe on a regular basis.

- Letting agents are parasite scumbags whose sole purpose in life is to make everything as difficult as humanly possible, and to rape your bank account at every opportunity. FIFTY QUID to click 'print' on a ten-page Word document?  Really? I'm in the wrong game. For the record, dear letting agents, don't lecture me like some sort of authority on contract clauses, when you are a spelling moron and you cannot differentiate between 'your' and 'you're'. One more unprofessional and shitty email, and I will send you back your correspondence with red markings all over it and 'see me' at the bottom.

- I have an excellent collection of early-noughties photos of my dear university friends where we all look young, stupid and badly-dressed. These will be collated and archived to be easily sourced for future birthdays/weddings/anytime I feel like busting out a photo of flared jeans and Acupuncture trainers.

- I own a box of tangled cables which I have no idea about - but I do know that if I chuck it, I'll suddenly realise what they were for, and that they were in fact essential to my existence.

I'm seriously weighing up just tossing a match in my room and walking away to start again. Best go crayon and cable shopping.