Farewell, my hunting pinks; farewell, my eminence grise

[desperance]

Not quite all my clothes are vanishing into charity boxes. Not quite - I saved a suit, a Nehru jacket, a couple of pairs of smart jeans - but everything else from the wardrobe. Thing is, a wardrobe is a file-and-forget box, apparently, in my head. There were clothes there I haven't seen for a decade, haven't worn perhaps for twenty years. My salad days, when I was pink in judgement! (I have always had two colours, pink and shades-of-black. Which worked well when I was young, but no mature man needs a pink paisley tie. Or a collection of faded shirts that speak to former conquests. So, yup: all the pink is going. And the grey.)

And today I absolutely have to compile the inventory for the shippers, and fill in all the forms. But I also have to go to the dentist, and I really need to have a serious conversation with the bank and the insurers and and and. And I don't want to, any of that. And I still haven't finished putting books in boxes, and I've barely begun on the archive. And and and.

The rest of the wardrobe may have to wait.