They say moving house is one of the most stressful things you can do in your life. This is, of course, entirely correct. This is the case in triple when you haven’t thrown out enough of your old shit before you move. Finding the Donald Duck tracksuit I wore when I was ten was a low point. Actually packing it away and moving it anyway was even lower.
Also present is boxes and boxes of my schoolwork. Some of which is pretty good, and some of which is utter bullshit. Here’s a good one:
I have to say, my pastiche of Acorn User for the final project of my Information Technology GCSE was bloody excellent. pic.twitter.com/RrqrQP6faC
— John J. Hoare (@mumoss) March 14, 2020
Here’s a bullshit one:
John, that is absolutely fucking shit. pic.twitter.com/Wl8TdAYGT3
— John J. Hoare (@mumoss) March 17, 2020
And some, well…
I was quite innocent at secondary school, really. pic.twitter.com/HWki6mhv7x
— John J. Hoare (@mumoss) March 15, 2020
I presume we’re at least a couple of years away from ITV commissioning Masturbate and Shit Yourself.
Anyway, all this rubbish got loaded up into storage years ago. (We’ve been trying to move since the start of the pandemic. It’s finally happened, three years later.) And as I was idly talking to my mother the other night, she revealed that she used to have some of my best schoolwork… and a fair amount of it got chucked out when she moved to London. Not all of it. But some.
In other words: I’ve kept loads of absolute nonsense, and some of my better stuff ended up in the bin. No matter how hard you try, variants of the above will happen. Sometimes, the things you put aside to keep, are the exact things which end up being destroyed.
Including things rather more important than my dumbass schoolwork.