depressing read:
1. Non-working Apple Computer tower and monitor ×1
2. Cast-iron fireplace ×1
3. Large suitcases filled with crap ×4
4. Cardboard boxes filled with crap ×12
5. Non-working video recorders ×2
6. Box of broken Christmas decorations ×1
7. Fake Christmas Tree ×1
8. Thirty-year-old fake Christmas Tree rescued from bin at parents’ house several years earlier ×1
9. Comic books ×345
10. Cardboard boxes filled with books ×3
11. Cardboard boxes filled with CDs that I no longer listen to but don’t want to give away ×2
12. Vinyl albums ×450
13. Vinyl singles ×280
14. Black bin liners filled with Lydia’s old clothes ×8
15. Cardboard box filled with pre-recorded videos ×1
This was a depressing read because I’d once cherished quite a lot of the so-called crap. The comics, records and videos had been amongst my most beloved possessions during my twenties and just seeing them brought back floods of memories from my university days and beyond. Whole evenings spent in darkened rooms listening to The Smiths, lost afternoons re-watching Betty Blue , wondering why I couldn’t find a girl mad enough to poke her own eyes out, and whole days lost in the imaginary world of the X-men wondering whether one day I’d discover my own superhuman power. Broken computers and bits of electrical cabling aside, the contents of the loft was me.
I called Claire upstairs to ask her advice.
Claire was aghast. ‘What are you doing? You told me you were putting the bed together so that Mum’s got somewhere to sleep next week.’
‘I was but . . . I got distracted.’
‘By a loft filled with rubbish?’
I was about to explain about Nadine’s stuffless life but then I saw her point. ‘I’ll put it all back and sort out the bed, eh?’
Claire leant across to offer me a kiss of consolation that communicated her appreciation of my actions no matter how misguided but before her lips could reach my cheek a familiar tortured-cat scream filled the air.
‘I’d better go.’
‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘You better had.’
Later that evening Claire and I were on the sofa watching TV and half discussing our plans for Christmas.
‘Do you want to know something weird?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like the fact that even though I’ve officially given up my To-Do List in an odd sort of way I’ve actually been doing it.’
‘How?’
‘Item 303 was “Try to see Nadine before the end of the year”; Item 34 was “Sort out loft”; Item 210 was “Take down bed in front room and put in loft” but I only did half of that. It’s the List. I’ve been unconsciously doing the List all this time and never even noticed.’
‘Maybe it’s possessed like that Stephen King book, Christine ,’ laughed Claire.
‘How can a notebook filled with stuff to do be possessed?’
‘I’m guessing the same way that a 1958 Plymouth Fury gets possessed,’ replied Claire. ‘Who knows?’ She widened her eyes and pulled what I assumed was her spooky face. ‘All I know is this: you might have given up the List but the List doesn’t seem to have given up on you.’
Chapter 8: ‘Buy champagne flutes . . . or failing that a couple of plastic beakers from IKEA.’
‘Which one should we get the boys to sing next?’ sniggered Claire. ‘ “Islands in the Stream” or “Total Eclipse of the Heart”?’
It was a little after eleven on New Year’s Eve and with an hour to go before midnight I was trying my best to stay awake on the long haul to the big bongs. To entertain ourselves Claire and I, along with our ‘also-with-child’ friends John and Charlotte, were playing the PlayStation karaoke game that I’d received for Christmas.
‘We’re not singing
1. Non-working Apple Computer tower and monitor ×1
2. Cast-iron fireplace ×1
3. Large suitcases filled with crap ×4
4. Cardboard boxes filled with crap ×12
5. Non-working video recorders ×2
6. Box of broken Christmas decorations ×1
7. Fake Christmas Tree ×1
8. Thirty-year-old fake Christmas Tree rescued from bin at parents’ house several years earlier ×1
9. Comic books ×345
10. Cardboard boxes filled with books ×3
11. Cardboard boxes filled with CDs that I no longer listen to but don’t want to give away ×2
12. Vinyl albums ×450
13. Vinyl singles ×280
14. Black bin liners filled with Lydia’s old clothes ×8
15. Cardboard box filled with pre-recorded videos ×1
This was a depressing read because I’d once cherished quite a lot of the so-called crap. The comics, records and videos had been amongst my most beloved possessions during my twenties and just seeing them brought back floods of memories from my university days and beyond. Whole evenings spent in darkened rooms listening to The Smiths, lost afternoons re-watching Betty Blue , wondering why I couldn’t find a girl mad enough to poke her own eyes out, and whole days lost in the imaginary world of the X-men wondering whether one day I’d discover my own superhuman power. Broken computers and bits of electrical cabling aside, the contents of the loft was me.
I called Claire upstairs to ask her advice.
Claire was aghast. ‘What are you doing? You told me you were putting the bed together so that Mum’s got somewhere to sleep next week.’
‘I was but . . . I got distracted.’
‘By a loft filled with rubbish?’
I was about to explain about Nadine’s stuffless life but then I saw her point. ‘I’ll put it all back and sort out the bed, eh?’
Claire leant across to offer me a kiss of consolation that communicated her appreciation of my actions no matter how misguided but before her lips could reach my cheek a familiar tortured-cat scream filled the air.
‘I’d better go.’
‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘You better had.’
Later that evening Claire and I were on the sofa watching TV and half discussing our plans for Christmas.
‘Do you want to know something weird?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like the fact that even though I’ve officially given up my To-Do List in an odd sort of way I’ve actually been doing it.’
‘How?’
‘Item 303 was “Try to see Nadine before the end of the year”; Item 34 was “Sort out loft”; Item 210 was “Take down bed in front room and put in loft” but I only did half of that. It’s the List. I’ve been unconsciously doing the List all this time and never even noticed.’
‘Maybe it’s possessed like that Stephen King book, Christine ,’ laughed Claire.
‘How can a notebook filled with stuff to do be possessed?’
‘I’m guessing the same way that a 1958 Plymouth Fury gets possessed,’ replied Claire. ‘Who knows?’ She widened her eyes and pulled what I assumed was her spooky face. ‘All I know is this: you might have given up the List but the List doesn’t seem to have given up on you.’
Chapter 8: ‘Buy champagne flutes . . . or failing that a couple of plastic beakers from IKEA.’
‘Which one should we get the boys to sing next?’ sniggered Claire. ‘ “Islands in the Stream” or “Total Eclipse of the Heart”?’
It was a little after eleven on New Year’s Eve and with an hour to go before midnight I was trying my best to stay awake on the long haul to the big bongs. To entertain ourselves Claire and I, along with our ‘also-with-child’ friends John and Charlotte, were playing the PlayStation karaoke game that I’d received for Christmas.
‘We’re not singing
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