My soulmate and I are, among other things, pathological accumulators.
We like things that are pretty, shiny, book-like, have sharp edges, or are
just plain interesting, and we like to take them home with us.
It's not that we never throw anything away, but rather that we gather
so much neat, treasured, or potentially useful stuff that it exceeds
the disposal rate.
So the time came when we had outgrown our little flat, and it was time to
move on. We needed to find a place where we could spread out, and
would no longer have to climb over our fencing bags to get to the computers,
keep the bikes in the bathtub, or balance the mail in an ever more precarious
pile on the pile of videos. It also had to be close to trains, the city, and
our fencing clubs. Thus began our oddessy.
A month later we upped our rental rate to $220, and started looking at
suburbs furthur afield. As we entered the final weeks we began
looking at places for up to $260 a week. Finally, in the Glen Iris
area, we began to hit our target.
T - 2 weeks, and we applied for 3 houses that were in varying states
of disrepair, but were big. They were far from perfect, and we hoped
the landlords would be prepared to engage in the cut and thrust, parry
riposte of negotiation. Foolish optomists were we, for as we advanced,
our would-be landlords stepped off the piste, declaring that though
ideal tenants we obviously were, they didn't have to play this game.
But then at T - 1 week, we found the perfect place. Spacious, near a station,
and almost exactly midway between our two clubs. Could life get any better?
Yes! A courtyard long enough fence in! Finally I can build and test those
bungee spools!
In a flurry of activity preparations were made, old landlord alerted, new lease
signed, plan of attack formulated. Before we'd even left someone had taken
our car space. Returning from fencing tired, but still full of adrenalin, I was
not impressed. I left them a message on their bonnet. It was a whiteboard marker,
it would wipe right off. They were still there the next day, I considered
finding out if I could get them towed. Now that the new lease was signed, I
didn't feel the usual rules of being a good neighbour applied anymore.
They moved eventually, but I wasn't game to park in our spot until after
Thursday training, just in case they were still around and waiting for revenge.
Then it was off to Sydney for a week for the national championships.
Upon our return, we picked up the keys and leapt around the corner to our
new home with a series of ballestras our enthusiasm would not allow to be
restrained. A passe-sotto in the lounge, a fleche up the hall, and this unit
was declared the home of fencers. And so it began.
First the non-essentials, for this would be a gradual move. The collectibles
go first, the computers and fencing equipment would be among the last.
The following weekend however our move was interrupted by the Lygon
Street Festa competition. Well, there must be priorities. Even a new home
has to wait for a chance to fence in front of an audience, in a major
intersection no less.
Next weekend marked the final stage of the move, as we hired muscle with
a truck to come and take the heavy stuff for us. Our precious fencing equipment
was stowed in the car where it was safe from their blundering, the rest of the
fragiles were left to take their chances. As we directed the muscles to put
down the furniture, one eyed the display swords with interest. We ended up
talking fencing, David pulled out our fencing weapons and since he seemed more
interested in historical things we told him about the SCA. Just goes to
show you shouldn't pay attention to stereotypes.
And so our move ended. We still have to bypass the fencing bags to get at
the computers, but at least the bikes can be kept in the garage, the lounge is
big enough for armoury working bees, and no one else will be parking in our spot.