Mouse went back to Stirling on Saturday, and left the detritus from his Christmas visit in his room – overflowing bin, bits of packaging all over the floor, remnants of ripped-off wrapping paper and mostly empty toothpaste tubes… you get the general idea. And he didn’t even manage to strip the bed. I was quite grumpy about it on Sunday, so I closed his bedroom door and did some other stuff that needed doing, but it’s not really feasible to just leave his room like that until he next comes home at Easter, so last night I mentally girded my loins, plugged in the Hoover, picked up a few handfuls of bin bags and reopened the door.
I was doing OK, until I moved his bed to get at the sock I could just see hiding underneath. Between his bed and the wall was a kind of congealed lump of stuff some of which may just have been breeding with other bits… There were game cartridges and Lego and spiders and many pens, sheet music (screwed up into balls, naturally) and hair bands and out-of-date inhalers, two mummified biscuits (cookie variety) and a perfectly good book which I have had to throw away. I’m a librarian. I don’t throw books away. Ever.
I made two pounds and thirty two pence – it’s mine, he doesn’t know he’s lost it and the disinfectant probably cost more than that. And now Mouse’s bed is free-standing in the middle of the room so that he can’t hoard things down the side although I’m probably going to make him sleep in the shed next time he comes home anyway.