It’s approaching the end of the time I have with this van, but it’s taught me that having a big van in London is a very good thing for me. Even my agent approves. I suspect I’ll be getting one of my own pretty soon once I work out the finances.
The last of the plates are finally in it, and will be up to my flat tonight. This means I will then be able to sort them into sets, inventory them, squirrel away the ones we want for Carol, and get rid of the rest. We will get our living room back and then I can just gradually pick over the contents of boxes. Serendipity is my friend in this. I’m in Hither Green at the moment, waiting for a friend, and I get talking with a guy who is refurbishing his own house here. “Only two ways you get a house like this in an area like this. Be a banker, or spend years making it,” he tells me. “A good friend of mine is doing something similar in Margate,” I tell him. He’s been at it six years. He sees the sheet music in the back of my van. That’ll be going to a museum of Music Hall in Dover. “This is a very musical street.” He tells me. “The guy in that house collects pianolas.”
I’ve got three rolls of music for a Victorian pianola. Now I’ve got the phone number of a man that collects exactly that sort of thing, and he lives just round the corner from one of my best mates. Another thing almost ticked off. More to go. Celluloid film is high on my list now as it can spoil. Time to get it digitised and find out what footage I’ve found before it disintegrates. Then there are busts to think about. A show with a room full of busts… But right now I’m still on basic ceramics – mugs cups and plates – and by the end of this week I want to have that in a good place, rather than all over the living room. I’m not even close to sorting my own crap yet. I’m still deep in other people’s.
Right now though I’m waiting for a friend who is moving house. That’s the best way to keep the crap levels down. Moving house lots. Although “Just a few boxes,” is a lot of boxes. Plus she neglected to mention that they wouldn’t be full when I got there so she’s filling them while I write this. Moving out is stressful enough without someone hustling you about time. And these days I’m good at spotting a blog window. So I’m sitting in the cab getting this written. Once it’s scheduled I can switch off the internal alarm that occasionally makes me say “fuck” out loud just after switching off the light.
All this space, on wheels. It’ll be full of furniture tomorrow so we are dumping out first thing.
In this city you can monetise a broom cupboard. Big yellow want something close to 400 quid for the size of this van in their real estate empire, and lots of showy security technology even if it’s just guarding junk you’ve got nowhere else to put. Lyndon has paid £250 for a month in a damp garage in East London – for his timber. Hopefully he’ll get to use the timber. Better to try to reuse materials than the dump and buy new every time. But always – always “where do we keep it?”
Here she comes. I reckon we can go. Out.