Countdown to Evacuation

As I look around me, at the muddle that is my house, I struggle to understand just why it is that I cannot stick to the plan I have every week, and that is to simply clear stuff out.
I’ve definitely become worse at this. I swear I never used to dillydally in such a way, or find myself emptying the dishwasher when I had started making someone’s bed only a moment before.
I go to the freezer, only to discover myself scrubbing a bit of mould off the ceiling. And then, when I haven’t finished that job, I’m inexplicably outside, with my head in the wheelie bin, retrieving an odd sock that I had mistakenly given up on, now that its brother has turned up.
Yes, this disorganised flitting had become a real problem.
But now, the pressure is on a little. In approximately four weeks’ time, life as we know it will change. The Four Little Seymours, Big Seymour and I will be moving out of the Funny Little Bungalow, to return at a time not preordained, to a place that is unrecognisable.
The roof is coming off. And we are moving into The Shed.
I am pulling a face at that prospect. It is not appealing. The serious lack of a timescale is probably largely responsible for my anxiety. We could be living in The Shed for two years, for all I know. I should probably enjoy the semi-civilisation of the Funny Little Bungalow now, while it lasts.
But on the other hand, and remembering that I am an optimist, I am going to try to see this move as a positive experience.
By moving into The Shed, one thing is certain: we will not have much room. Therefore, we have no choice but to be minimalistic in our packing. Big Seymour keeps telling me we will need boxes for the Four Little Seymour’s clothes. Does he not realise how many garments they get through?
And what about my clothes? What will Trinny think, if I am living out of a box? That may be taking the notion of a capsule wardrobe a little too far.
But it’s happening, regardless. Each weekend, some more of the roof is chipped away. It is only a matter of time before all the preparatory brickwork is complete, and poof! The rest of the tiles will be removed. And then, we’ll be out of options.
My naive hope that we can maybe ride the build out in the Funny Little Bungalow will be quashed for good, and The Shed might, at that point, seem like the preferable option.
This afternoon, I must move my computer, the table upon which it sits, and all manner of other mismatched furniture items out from under the window in the spare room that we affectionately call Baghdad. Big Seymour plans to remove part of the wall over the window. Things could get messy.I’m not exactly sure where I am supposed to move all this stuff to. Backwards is what I’m going for, and I hope that’s far enough. But it is at times likes this when I’m jolly glad I don’t own a iMac, or have any posh furniture that can really be ruined, because I’m sure that wall removal is not going to improve things.
It does all feel a little bit like we are making our house worse. Desecration is an apt word to use. There will come a point when the whole of the Funny Little Bungalow is open to the elements. What will it be like then? Will I be allowed in? What will happen to all the furniture? Where will I write my blog..?
The questions in my mind are so numerous, that I hardly dare to ask them. And I suspect that I won’t like the answers.

As for the Four Little Seymours, they are just taking it all in their stride. Oblivious even more than I as to the actual plan of action in Big Seymour’s head, they are simply living day-to-day, as only children can. They’re not concerned about the roof or the price of lintels. They’re more worried about the far-reaching side-effects of a slightly disastrous World Book Day yesterday, when Little Seymour Number One underwent the sacrifice of dyeing her hair black only to not win Best Costume, and Mini Seymour was barfed on in a big way by a child who found the whole Book Day concept rather nauseating.
And just to add to the pressure, they have started talking quite a lot about their new bedrooms, and what colours they’ll be. Right about now, interior design concepts are the last things on my mind, but not for The Four Little Seymours. I already know that Boy Seymour wants his room to be red. A Red Room? Interesting.
Time is pressing on, and I really must move all this furniture. And besides, I really must do something more physical before my cadaverously cold fingers drop off altogether. I suppose at least that The Shed may be warmer – who knows?
It’s all rather exciting, I suppose.
But one thing is for sure: the Funny Little Bungalow as we know it is not going to exist for much longer. Maybe, I will soon get to see proof of my theory that skirting board wiping and cobweb removal have all been superfluous in recent months (and therefore justifiably ignored), when the very ceilings are gone.
I’m hoping, though, that I will still be able to visit the Funny Little Bungalow. Surely it won’t be out of bounds? It’ll be eerie to come in a poke about in a house we love, but cannot live in. I suspect that I will be in here often, retrieving extra pants, reminiscing about living in squalor and looking to the future.

But right now, the future is The Shed. And I’d better get used to the idea.
Eek!