Packed to the Rafters

My garage, still filled floor to ceiling with the dreaded boxes and assorted furniture. I literally have nowhere in the bungalow to put any of the stuff that’s in them, and there isn’t even a place indoors for Henry Hoover to live. It’s a similar scene in the main bedroom, and there’s a stack of ten boxes in the lounge which isn’t diminishing as fast as I’d like. The second bedroom, where I’m currently sleeping, is better and only contains two boxes after yesterday’s efforts. I find it overwhelming tackling all of this on my own whilst trying to enjoy some sort of normal sociable life, as well as having to sort out things like the boiler, tumble dryer and satellite dish going wrong.

I just couldn’t face doing any more sorting today.