We are fortunate to have a holiday house. Which makes us sound posh, so I always have to add that we bought it yonks ago before the property market went crazy for $78500. And, no, that is not missing a zero. It really did cost us $78500, and it’s 4 bedroom and a 5 minute stroll to a little bay beach.
Ahem….it appears I digressed in order to not sound posh.
What this means is that we (well, really I because we all know who is really responsible for packing, don’t we?) have not one, but TWO houses to prepare for moving. This is foremost in my mind, so today I jumped in and purged the holiday house of all it’s crap.
The thing with holiday houses is that people tend to treat it like an Op Shop. Have an old vacuum you no longer need? Send it K&M’s holiday house! Sure you know longer want that bedspread because it went out of fashion in the Jurassic era but it’s great for a holiday house. So, before you know it your holiday house looks like an Op Shop.
Today I relieved the house of an offcut of carpet, a microwave that was bizarrely in a wardrobe, a CD player that hasn’t worked for 3 years, old curtain rods and a couple of bags of miscellaneous rubbish. There’s also a Queen bed mattress and base set that requires anyone who sleeps on it to seek chiropractic advice, and a two-seater lounge complete with sagging springs. These need to wait for a trailer to get them to the dump. So far, they’ve been gathering dust for 4 years waiting for the trailer.
And then I journeyed to a place I have not been since I was a little girl. The dump. Sorry, I mean the “Waste Transfer Station”. Back in the 70’s a trip to the tip with dad was a highlight and something to be looked forward to. I have no idea why it excited us so much or why we seemed to go to the dump every couple of weeks, especially as quite a lot of our rubbish was disposed of in the incinerator. But we were always thrilled to accompany dad to the dump. As a parent I now know that sending us to the dump with dad was mum’s way of getting a little ‘me time’.
My daughters did not share my enthusiasm. They didn’t moan, but they were bewildered as to why it was a treat in the “olden days” to go to the dump, and staring at the mountains of garbage I understood their bewilderment.
Things have changed in dumpland since my last visit. Firstly, there are FEES to get rid of your crap (which the lovely garbologist did not charge me!). Secondly, you have to separate your rubbish into various sections. Steel section for the microwave and curtain rods. If I’d had green waste that would have gone elsewhere. But the great joy of the trip came for my ‘general waste’. I got to drive up a little hill and hurl my rubbish off the edge and onto the pile below. I sent my purple lavender scented garbage bags free, hurtling them onto the many pile of unwanted crap below.