It’s been two months since we signed the contract to rent a house in Culloden and slowly the feeling of being on a holiday is giving way to the certainty that something is beginning. Apart from two exemplars all the moving boxes have been unpacked and the contents sorted, beds and several other furniture do what they should and for a week now a brandnew lawnmower has been blocking the floor of the tiny toolshed; front- and backgarden are thus impeccably trimmed, probably not in a fine english manner, but a perfect scotch turf.
The packing cases with our stuff from Salzburg, all 70 of them, arrived the day after we signed and got the keys. When the truck reversed into our street the girls were out for a walk and I had my hopes up high that the truckdriver would be a massive, strong bloke and we’d get the discharging done rapidly.
The drivers cabin swung open and an almost frigheningly meagre, 1.6m wee man with a disturbingly bushy moustache and a very shaky hand climbed down the steps with caution. Good thing neither him nor me were in a hurry and some two hours later one of the rooms was stacked with boxes from wall to wall to ceiling and the truck on it’s way south.
“Newstart” is the place where we got pretty much all our furniture (apart from beds and mattresses), used bookshelfes, a very nice old desk, a few drawers. The concept of “charity shops” like that one and the “British Heart Foundation” was new to me, definitely a good thing to have for bargains and eventual decluttering.