At long last, we got around to chucking out all the junk from the study and the nursery-to-be: the Seventies turntables which make handy bedside tables if you have the room; the boy's old computer parts and boxes; the clothes rack with the peeling plastic coating; the old school chair which has been in the house since before I first bought the place (about 16 years ago); the enormous sack of rags; and heaps more.
There was more than enough for two car loads. The funny thing was that when you take stuff to the rubbish tip you're charged by the weight - they weigh the car when you enter with the rubbish, and weigh it again when you leave without it - and my car apparently contained 0 kilograms of rubbish. I still got charged six bucks though.
It feels really good to throw so much stuff out. There's now probably enough space for all the baby's stuff, but also it feels more like a new start - out with the old, in with the new.
I went for a swim today. Isn't it ironic that I can swim six kilometres (albeit slowly and with a pause every 75-100 metres) without getting out of breath - but just while sitting in the car to go out to lunch, I can feel so breathless?