There is a box in the Belfry. Within it is about 3 years worth of paperwork. It remains sealed. It shouldn't, as its contents are important. But I don't have room for the paperwork. I should make room for it. Shred the closed bank account files and replace with open bank account files. I will do this. But at the moment I'm basking in the glow of a monumental tidy up and can't be bothered with the paperwork.
I finally put some of my art up on the walls. This made me very happy. One of them was the print of St Andrews harbour I was given as a leaving present by the Luvians gang. I refused to succumb to the futility of further personalising a place that must be sold. I make this place mine while I have it. Photos, prints, paintings, poems, postcards and posters now adorn these walls, most of them truly mine. There is an old spattering of memorabelia as well. Some of it so old I can't remember its significance. A couple of wedding invites kicking about as well. I don't know whether to save these or not.
I drove yesterday. Driving an automatic Volvo S80 is much like driving a tanker. A wide tanker. And automatics give me the creeps. Someone said it was like driving a go-cart. I think it's more like driving a dodgem, though with less control.