Sunday 17th March

For years I never even had a car, and seemed to manage quite adequately without one.  My partner loves her car and uses it for everything, including transporting furniture and all sorts of odds and ends from one house to another.  Our fault for having three I suppose, but I had a house full of stuff before I met her, and at that time she had two houses full herself.  And that was before we bought France, which of course had to be filled up with stuff, most of which we transported by car.  We are back down to just three houses now, but every weekend I seem to spend an inordinate amount of time loading and unloading the car.

I have no idea where all this stuff comes from, but we seem to be addicted to buying junk which travels from one abode to another, usually ending up in my garage which until today was chocker.  We are trying to get rid of a lot of it this weekend at a car boot sale, though I imagine we will return with at least as much, after wandering around the other stalls and buying even more junk.

Not that it really matters, as long as we cover the cost of our table it will be a success, and some of the old table lamps and ornaments I will be happy to lose for 50p, or if you really want it, just take it away.

None of these financial transactions will even figure on the horizon of the vast amounts ‘earned’ in selling my old house and buying two others and doing them up.

Money is the most ridiculous of commodities and I am one of those people who are only really happy when I can see a rising balance on a spreadsheet, though am equally happy to admit that when it is all gone it is all gone.  For myself I could live on a remarkably small income and be quite content, but money seems to come in one end and flows out the other, and each transaction seems to be accompanied by me loading and unloading the car.