Tidying up is hard to do.
Who hasn’t suffered a pang at binning some photo of a former love, at binning that once reliable but now no longer elasticated item of underwear, discarding the long-faded P3 certificate for trying one’s best?
Clearing out such treasured connections with the past is often a difficult but necessary stage in moving on. De-cluttering is progress.
Which is why we commend the unknown resident of Forth Street who yesterday put out their Christmas tree for kerbside collection.
Ninety-one days late.
What fond regrets they must have felt all these weeks, wading through drifts of pine needles on slippered feet. What sorrows as balloons deflated like breasts, baubles sagged.
How many times did they replay those memories of cranberries and sticky pud, read cracker jokes again, recall the way the table roared?
How many nights did they sit watching tinsel drift in time to King’s College choristers, remembering mistletoe?
What happy tears? What cheerful sobs?
Spring is nearly here and the nights are drawing out. It’s time to make plans, clean windows, look forward.
And for someone on Forth Street, there are only 238 days left till ….
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