August 27th 2018

Today I took a trip to the tip for the first time in my adult life. I feel like spending my bank holiday Monday going back and forth to the tip is the most adult thing I’ve ever done in my life (25 in three weeks, by the way).

There’s just something innately grown up about it. It’s ironic that this trip to the tip was in aid of an event that makes me feel anything but adult: I’m moving back in with my Mum and Dad.

So I’ve had to empty my house of all the old tat and crap that Mum won’t let me bring with me (and also the stuff that I have no idea why I have in the first place).

And so, the tip.

I had to ask the refuse assistant (I didn’t make that title up, it’s what it said on the website when I checked whether they’d be open today) whether decorative pillows went in textiles or general, and where I was supposed to put my garden waste (his answer was “in the skip labelled ‘garden waste'”) but I managed to successfully navigate the incredibly middle-aged, middle-classed wasteland that was a Refuse and Recycling Centre in the heart of the Cotswolds, darling.


Until tomorrow, my car’s a mess now though.


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