CLEAR OUT

I have to make a start today as I'm not sure how much time is left. But where to begin?

I decide the bedroom should be the first destination. I can just about open the door and get in between the pile of magazines on one side and boxes on the other. I switch on the light to survey the landfill. The bed confronts me, the duvet pulled back on the side I slept on last night and an untidy pile of unused towels, pink, blue, white and all the colours in between, lying opposite. Reaching the window to open the curtains is a step too far as I will have to hurdle the stack of mats in the way and I am not up to that.

The overflowing wardrobe on my right is the first target. The half open doors reveal dresses, short and long skirts, coats for the autumn and winter, and goodness knows what else bursting out. I pull the doors open with my left hand, my right holding three black polythene bags ready to be filled. I pull out a flowery dress bursting with autumn colours and redolent of a day when Steve and I walked alongside the bay of Naples warmed by the setting sun and filled to the brim with glasses of Barolo. I was younger and slimmer then. I mustn't be too hasty though as each item has a tale of its own to tell. It would be wrong to just bag the lot without going through each item.

By lunchtime, I've made progress of sorts: one bag with a few small items in it. It’s a time consuming process, the sentimental assessment of times gone by, trying to match items to my personal chronology; a life told in fabric and cloth. And this is only one wardrobe; there's another bigger one in the spare bedroom and that's jammed full inside and with more clothes on top. My tummy is rumbling now and I head for the kitchen, navigating my way down the hallway, bouncing against the double mattress standing up against the wall.

I manage to open the freezer without banging the door against the pile of chairs beside it. You never know who might call round and I don't want to leave them standing, do I? The frozen slimming meals in the drawer don’t appeal. I close the door and open the fridge above and peer inside. I move the vegetable bags to one side and reach into the back, finding a pie. That's what I need. The calories are not high really, especially when you have an active afternoon ahead. But I need to find that 5:2 diet guide to remind myself how it works. It must be in the book collection fly tipped in the lounge.

I put the pie in the oven and squeeze down the compressed hallway again. Entering the lounge, I trip over boxes of tiles in the doorway and my fall is broken by cushions stacked high on the floral settee. Steadying myself, I clamber over a crate reaching the first pile of books and sit down to look through them. It's difficult to get comfortable in this confined space given the size I am these days but I just about manage. I surprise myself as I start to work through the great mound, rediscovering volumes which I have forgotten about: text books, works of literature, and recipe collections bringing back gastronomic memories of aromas and flavours associated with past loves. My reverie continues until it is interrupted by the smell of burning pie. With great difficulty, I get up and make for the doorway, stumbling over the tiles, then moving as fast as I can to the smoke filled kitchen.

There, I turn off the oven. I need comfort food and pluck a large bag of crisps from the cupboard, settle into a chair and start munching as I survey the stacks of dinner sets on the table: porcelain, stoneware and bone china, ready for any guests that call round. I don't have the heart to continue with the wardrobe. Or the books. What surrounds me is who and what I am. I'm defined by the stories they tell about my past, my choices, my tastes, my decisions. It's impossible decide what I should keep and what to get rid of.

I retreat to the bathroom and sit myself on the toilet, gazing at the heap of newspapers lying in the bath. Ever since they introduced weekly supplements it has become harder and harder to read all of the contents. It's a real nuisance as I used to enjoy a good soak in the bath but these days I have to settle for sponging myself over the sink. I hope I don't smell.

The doorbell rings and I ignore it. But it rings again. Getting up slowly, I edge down the hallway. Reaching the front door, I try to figure out who is on the other side of the frosted glass. It is not clear and I cautiously open the door on the chain. There stands a tall man wearing a white T shirt.

“Afternoon, love. Just letting you know that I've dropped off the dumpster as instructed by the town hall.” He stands back and points to the empty object sitting on my drive. “The man said they’ll be round about eight tomorrow morning.” He stops and gives me a puzzled look. “You did know, didn't you?”

I slowly close the door. It's out of my hands. The whole lot will have to go, apart from the clothes which I have packed in the big suitcase for an emergency, all of which will hopefully fit into the wardrobe in the tiny flat I’m being moved to. I just need to find the suitcase and then I'll be ready to go. But tonight I will sleep for one last time amongst the relics of my past in this sanctuary before they come to loot it.