Last weekend I finally got my Christmas things brought back out to my dad’s house to store in the attic. While putting them up there I found a box of my stuff I’d forgotten was even there, and brought it down. Judging from what was in it, that box had moved with me from my mom’s house to my dad’s way back when I was 17, and not been opened since. I went through it, alternately chuckling at my teenage treasures and shaking my head in bewilderment that I’d thought this stuff worth moving, and threw away everything but a few mementoes worth keeping.

There’s still quite a lot of stuff belonging to me in my dad’s house. It’s not as high a priority as the stuff in my own place, but it’s easier to deal with cos it’s so old there’s unlikely to be much I want to keep. I’ll go through it bit by bit, as and when I’m over there.