Enforced Minimalism

Thank heavens for Marie Kondo, authoress of The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. Last summer I gave our flat in the Historical House a tremendous clear-out, little knowing that a pipe would burst, destroying our bathroom and leading to our exile. We have Kondo to thank for the fact that our flat, though much trodden upon by firefighters and workmen, is not a complete shambles.  

After a few short (thank heavens) stays in hotels, we were put in a one-bedroom "holiday let" flat with a kitchen for some months. Then, having received the bad news that we could never again live in our beloved Historical House, we were asked to vacate the holiday let. Now, thanks to a generous friend who has bought a country home, we are living in a room in the New Town.

This is downsizing to a whole new level, and I keep thinking about James Joyce's family's spiral down the property ladder. However, that is not fair, for the reason we have not just signed a year's lease on a £900/month flat in the New Town is that we have offered to BUY a flat and now we are just waiting for the solicitors to tell us where to send the money and to give us the keys. Unlike the great majority of flood victims, we have a choice here.

Meanwhile, I have been learning what is absolutely essential for comfortable living, and to my surprise, I only do need one pair of shoes although I admit a prettier pair for Sunday Mass would be an excellent addition. Strangely, my husband seems to need five or six pairs; occasionally I collect them from around the room and place them in two rows by the door.

Also essential (for summer): one raincoat, two skirts, a suit, four T-shirts, enough socks, tights and underclothes for a week, two nightgowns, a Sunday dress, bed-socks and a towel.

In terms of furnishings, one really does need a stove of her own. After a month of microwave meals, I  can safely say that when I have a stove again, I will never willingly eat a microwaved meal for the rest of my life. A hot plate would have saved us a lot of money, for we might not have been driven to eating out so often with a hot plate.

Then one needs a table, a chair, a fork, knife and spoon, a wide bowl that can also serve as a plate, a drinking glass, a mug for coffee, a kettle, a french press (for coffee), a tray on which to keep the morning coffee equipment, a shelf for books and papers, a bed with pillows that can double as cushions, two fitted sheets, two duvet covers, a duvet and a bathroom with plentiful hot water.  Oh, and a wardrobe for hiding all clothing. And a plastic bag for the rubbish which one must take out ASAP to the friendly bin on the street. And two dishtowels. And a dirty-laundry basket.

If you are B.A., you also need a radio and wi-fi. I admit I wish the building's wi-fi was strong enough to reach my computer, but after 8-9 hours online in my little office back in the Historical House, I am happy to be off while back in the One Room.

If we had a stove, naturally we would also want a sharp knife, a chopping board, a mixing bowl, a pot-holder, a pot and a frying pan.

I am thinking these thoughts because one day in the next two months we are going to have to pay movers a hefty sum to take all our belongings down three flights of stairs from the long Attic Flat in the Historical House and carry them up one flight to the short First-Storey Flat in the Riverside Row House. This means that we are going to have another massive clear-out, and I am stiffening my resolve with the thought that we need much less than we currently have.

This is going to be a serious exercise in being rooted in reality.