An eventful week it’s been. I wasn’t born in time for the last coronation, so I was looking forward to this one and I took the very sensible opportunity to catch up on the ironing. Six king size duvets, seven large tablecloths, numerous napkins and pillowcases and a few clothes took just about as long as the ceremony and procession did. I loved it – not the ironing, satisfying though that was, once it was done – but the coronation itself.
The decorator is amazingly quick. He (and his mate Trevor) had finished by lunchtime on Friday. We’ve been putting stuff back, or sometimes not. I’m afraid the study is a dumping ground for everything that has to be sorted out and decided upon, but the newly painted rooms will not be so cluttered again.
I was advised by two people – three, in fact, but two were a married couple – not to downsize and we all know how good I am at taking advice. They were all clients, bringing china over for the next auction and they’ve made sensible moves that turned out not to be as happy as they should have been. Unless there’s a pressing reason for it, they recommended not moving unless I really wanted to.
That’s what I think too. Moving to is a different mindset to moving from. Unless something goes awry with my longterm health, that won’t shorten my life but will impact on my ability to cope, I’m staying put for a few more years yet. I’d like to see out 100 years since my in-laws bought this house in August 1928. It doesn’t matter, it’s an arbitrary anniversary, but it has the great advantage of letting me put off a decision.