We are now fully engaged in the decluttering, junking and packing phase of the move. And it is horrible. And salutary. We have too much stuff. Stuff in cupboards that's not been looked at for years. Stuff on kitchen shelves that is never used but looks pretty and makes me think I'm a varied cook and adventurous. Books that have been read and will not be again, and books that were bought and will never be read. The complete works of two overactive artists aged under 7, which if thrown out in their sight is seen as an indication that we don't really love them. Balls of wool never knitted up. Bolts of cloth never sewn. Toys not played with for months if not years. Old computers, old cameras.
Too much bloody stuff.
It is both emotional and strangely liberating to get rid of things. You face up to life, look it in the eye and say "I was lousy at dressmaking and I hated it so why the hell do I have all this cloth". Or "realistically now we've gone digital will I ever use a film camera again?". Or "I know Grandpa read the complete Decline and Fall by Gibbon but am I going to? No I am not".