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I’ve finally got around to tackling the last of my unpacking, post house move. Holy mother of unnecessary and excessive consumption, I have acquired a lot of shite over the years!

While sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by the detritus that apparently sums up my life, I got to thinking about how little of it I give a genuinely care about (shoes & books aside, of course, I have too many of both and an irrational resistance to getting rid of any).

I started thinking about the old, “what would you save if your house was on fire?” question. Aside from the fact that if my house was actually on fire, I would wouldn’t actually give a shit about saving any of it, as frankly saving my own ass is more important, there are a few things that I would be heartbroken to lose.

• My Dad’s thesaurus. About 30 years old and falling to pieces – in fact there’s a whole chunk of the S section missing, but I’ll never part with it.
• My Winnie the Pooh beanie. The last thing my Grandad gave me just before he died. It came with an Easter egg, which was to be my last because I’d just bought my first home and was apparently, therefore too old for Easter eggs. He died about 6 weeks later.
• A picture of my sister and me, when we lived in Canada. A rare moment of sisterly affection & not arguing miraculously caught on camera.
• The ring my Mum & Dad gave me for being a bridesmaid when they got married. Doesn’t fit me sadly, as I’m no longer a ridiculously skinny 12 year old.
• This painting’s a recent acquisition, but one that I really love. I like to imagine what the two old guys are chatting about. Really need to get it framed though.

As for the rest, well, I’ve decided to have a huge de-cluttering session. Probably chuck a few of the pricier bits on Ebay and the rest I’ll give away to charity or take to the Bring Centre to recycle. Minimalism shall be my new middle name.