Nevertheless, we more or less overcame that (a large spare bedroom was unusable and packed to the gunwales* by the time we left our house in Lowestoft) and things were more-or-less reasonable for some time after we moved here, especially after we built an extension. It all fell apart after Weeza’s wedding, when my hip started to give problems and I gradually became less able to keep things together. This is not an easy house and it has a large garden, and once darling Kenny couldn’t manage any longer, the garden became too much for me. I lost heart, frankly, and the housework suffered too, and I left the Sage to his own devices. Devices and desires, dear friends. His collecting habit extended beyond control. He hasn’t changed over the years, it’s just that his brakes are not what they used to be and they were always poor. I did enough cleaning and tidying to get by and no more and ignored the rest.
And so it’s not his fault, it’s not mine either. It’s just that now I can’t deal with it any longer, I know that we won’t be able to stay in this house unless it’s easier to run and that means a lot less stuff. He’s awfully reluctant to do anything about it, he’s not too keen on me at present because he thinks I’m being unreasonable (not that he’d say so to me, but he does to others), but I know my limits. And so I’m having to push. He’s being co-operative, though it’s not easy for him.
I haven’t started on the garages and outhouses yet. Nor the cars.
*gunnels if you prefer, darlings, I grew up among sailors