These last few days have seen me throw away (or give to Oxfam) boxes and boxes of stuff - clothes, books, bits of paper, stuff I’ve been holding onto for years, for no reason except empty sentiment…Feels good to chuck it away. I’m purging.

I’ve been doing a lot of clearing out by proxy, too - my sister is at the family homestead at the mo, preparing the house for an incoming lessor. No-one lives there at the moment, or has done for the last few years at least - my mum is up in Iona, my sister is wherever her work takes her and my brother is in London, like me.

I’ve never lived in that house, but there’s a room there which contains some of my stuff - old textbooks and notes from uni, holiday snaps from places long since forgotten, thousands of compilation tapes and LPs, jumpers and hiking boots and other clothes not suitable for London living, but damned useful for hiking in the Pennines on my infrequent but always-valued visits to that bit of the world. Things need to be cleared out, though, ready for the incomer.

So the last few days have included a series of phone calls from my little sis, sitting amongst a pile of my forgotten belongings up north, sorting them into piles according to my instructions over the phone…

Ana: Mad White Giant by Benedict Allen
Meg: Keep. I’ll pick it up in the new year.
Ana: Fever Pitch by Nick Hornby
Meg: Oxfam.
Ana: US Socio-Economic Policy Towards Latin America 1945-1959
Meg: Ummm…Oxfam?
Ana: I don’t think there’s going to be any great call for that particular title in the Peak District this Christmas.
Meg: Oh, alright, keep it.
Ana: Blue jumper. Looks very warm.
Meg: You have it, then.
Ana: Cheers. Photo of two men I’ve never seen before in my life. One of them’s doing an impression of Elvis, I think, and the other one’s got a guitar. It’s in a wooden frame. Ooh! Wait! Guitar man looks like Ben Elton! Is it?
Meg: Ummmm. No. Oh, that’s Adam and Dan from uni. Put that in the box of things for me to pick up.
Ana: Map of Seville held together with sellotape with writing on it. Looks like a phone number and a name.
Meg: [silence]
Anna: Map of Seville? Meg?
Meg: Chuck. [sigh]

I’ve found it’s actually much easier to throw things away by proxy - there’s no lingering over objects, revisiting the memories that holding them brings back. Items have a description and a purpose and that’s it. Keep or chuck. Much, much easier.

What have you thrown away? What couldn’t you throw away?

Me? I threw away three and a half years of letters from the same person. I couldn’t throw away a book inscribed on the inside cover with a name, a date, a place and an ee cummings poem.