Page 10 of A New Life in Amsterdam

I can’t get the brand-new clothes out of the house quickly enough.

They hit a nerve, serving as a reminder of how irresponsibly I have behaved.

I feel like an alcoholic waking up and looking at all the empty wine bottles that surround them, only I woke up and realised that I was surrounded by shopping.

Just as ‘wine o’clock’ is deemed acceptable, so is ‘shop until you drop’.

It is practically a status symbol, a subject women joke about, but I am starting to realise that it can also be an indication that your life is spiralling out of control.

That inside you are unhappy and doing anything to fill that void.

Of course, the charity shop is happy. When I hand over the bags, the woman eyes up some of the dresses I had previously bought because there was fifty per cent off – so they were a bargain. Or so I thought at the time.

‘What beautiful clothes,’ she says.

‘Yes, they are.’

‘Goodness, price tags on them too.’

I look at the woman suspiciously. Is she judging me, or am I being paranoid? ‘Yeah, my mam died. Sadly, she never got a chance to wear them.’ I am horrified at myself for lying.

‘Oh, bless. Well, they look as though they might fit you. Are you sure you don’t want to keep them?

’ says the woman, holding up a burgundy dress I thought would be ideal for a dinner party.

It is a lovely dress, but I must be strong here.

I close my eyes for a second and picture the houseboat and the small amount of space that I’ll have available. I must not let my willpower wane.

‘No, it’s okay. I’d rather someone else enjoy them. Plus, I thought these might earn some money for your charity. I’m trying to do something good with them all.’

‘Well, that’s lovely. Thank you for choosing to donate them to us. I’m sure everything will be sold out in no time. They’re beautiful. It reminds me of the time we had a designer bag come in. Women were practically fighting over it.’

The woman picks up a long pink taffeta ballgown that I was never going to wear. What on earth was I thinking? I’m not Cinderella!

‘I might put this in the window.’

‘Go for it,’ I say, leaving her and a colleague rooting through the bag for the rest of the goodies they’ve inherited. I wouldn’t be surprised if they have first dibs, judging by the expressions on their faces.

I walk out and immediately feel lighter. Not only because I have got rid of a couple of bin bags of clothes, but because I am satisfied that by purging my wardrobe, I am letting go of anything that doesn’t serve me.

To celebrate I head to a cafe in town for breakfast. The smell of fried eggs, sausages and strong coffee hits me as soon as I open the door. It might be a bit of a greasy spoon, but it does the most gorgeous cooked breakfasts. After all that hard work, surely I deserve one.

As I sit down and tuck into a crispy hash brown, I notice that I have missed a call from Gerrit.

I have a sudden panic that something has gone wrong with the sale.

He was supposed to be giving me the details for a lawyer while he gets the rest of the paperwork drawn up.

What if I have done all this clearing out for nothing?

I tell myself to stay calm since, no matter what, I am still carrying out my plan for decluttering.

Whatever happens, having a clear-out is a good thing.

I almost choke on my hash brown as I rush down my food.

I desperately want to get out of the busyness of the cafe to call Gerrit.

I finish my breakfast off as fast as I can and hurry outside into the autumn air.

The trees on the high street have already turned golden autumnal shades.

I was hoping I could be in Amsterdam by Halloween if we pushed things along a bit.

My heart starts pounding and I get a fluttery feeling in the pit of my stomach as Gerrit’s number rings out.

When he answers I feel like I might not want to hear whatever it is he wants to tell me.

But his reassuring voice doesn’t sound like someone who is about to break bad news.

‘Hey, Sandy. Thanks for returning my call. How’ve you been?’

‘Yes, yes. Good. Do you have news on the barge? Is everything okay?’

‘Yes, of course. Just wanted to let you know that the paperwork’s all in order and I’ve emailed you the details of a lawyer you can use to check it over. Then, once you’re happy, you can send over the final amount, and we can sign all the paperwork.’

‘Wow, so it’s all going through?’

‘Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t it?’

‘No reason. I just have so much riding on this now. I’d be heartbroken if it fell through.’

‘I shouldn’t think it will. Unless there’s a problem with the money, there are no issues from this side. The guy who owned it died so it’s all very easy. It’s not like there’s an onward chain.’

‘Okay. Umm, he didn’t die on the barge, did he?’

‘Oh, no! He lived a long life on there. He was away when it happened. He was very old.’

‘Oh, right. Okay. Well, I can assure you that the money is safe as I’ve already given my bank notice to release it from the account.’

‘Great, looks like we’re all on track. You’ll be able to move in once everything’s completed.’

‘Amazing!’

I am so excited on the phone that I don’t notice I have stepped out in front of a car. The driver beeps at me and shouts obscenities. I hope Gerrit didn’t hear. What would he think of the language around here?

‘Are you okay?’ he asks.

‘Oh, yes, sorry. Almost got run over by a car but I’m okay.’

‘That’s good. We don’t want that to be a reason you can’t go through with the purchase. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has died before we can complete a sale. Sorry, it’s my Dutch sense of humour.’

‘Oh, ha. Right, I promise to take more care of myself… I’m just really, really excited.’

‘That’s understandable. It’s not every day someone moves country to live on a houseboat.’

He makes me sound like some sort of adventurous nomad and I love it.

Knowing that everything is going full steam ahead, I spend the next week throwing out broken Christmas decorations, spare buttons that don’t match anything I remember owning and odd socks.

I look at everything with a new-found clarity.

Why did I keep all this rubbish? I was always thinking ‘just in case’, but the truth is that it should all have been thrown out years ago.

This life clearance thing is finally starting to feel cathartic.

That is until the house clearance guys arrive and tell me how dreadful my stuff is.

There is nothing cathartic about being insulted so that they can buy everything at rock-bottom prices.

‘You can get those wardrobes brand new in Bargain Furniture up the retail park for under a hundred and fifty pounds,’ says the guy who is doing all the negotiating.

‘But this is solid pine. Those ones are made of that MDF stuff.’

I try to argue about the difference in quality, but he is adamant that my beautiful pine wardrobe is worthless.

It is a choice of take it or leave it. Since I want the house emptied before the estate agent comes round to take photos, I regretfully agree.

I want this place to be a blank canvas so that it sells quickly.

I once read that viewers can be put off by houses full of clutter with too many personal touches, which I guess is understandable.

Hopefully, any buyers can now imagine what their stuff will look like in here.

I also don’t want to leave the house with too much furniture when it’s going to be empty – even if I do have a super-efficient neighbourhood watch team here.

Perhaps I also secretly fear that I could back out at the last minute.

This way, if there is nothing left here then there is no turning back, no matter what happens.

After the clearance guys drive off with my precious items of furniture, I turn my attention to all the little knick-knacks that I should have got rid of long ago. It takes ages to pack them all up ready for the car boot sale that Debbie and I are doing at the weekend.

By the time the car boot sale comes around I can’t even remember what’s in half the boxes.

‘Are you sure people will buy this stuff?’ I ask Debbie as we set up. There is a lot of tat among the boxes.

‘’Course they will. Everyone loves a bargain.’

When we get to the soggy field, I am not convinced that I’ll sell anything.

For the first hour, all the sellers talk about is how the awful weather has kept everyone away.

As the heavens open above us, I wouldn’t blame anyone for staying at home.

However, by later in the morning, the clouds disperse a little and people finally start to appear.

I watch the crowds as they head in our direction. A young woman in her twenties is the first to explore our stall.

‘What’s this?’ she asks.

‘It’s a Cabbage Patch doll,’ I explain.

‘It’s very ugly,’ she says, picking it up.

Her comment upsets me. I feel very protective of the doll I’d had since the Eighties, which I let Hannah play with as a little girl.

‘Maybe it’s best to say nothing rather than be impolite about someone’s things,’ I say.

‘It’s just a doll. I’m not exactly hurting anyone’s feelings.’

‘Well, you’ve hurt my feelings,’ I say, snatching the doll back from her.

The young woman stares at me as though I have gone totally doolally and I am relieved when she walks over to the next stall. Thankfully, the next person who checks out my stuff is much more appreciative.

‘Garfield! How much is that? Haven’t seen one of those for years. Oh, I loved Garfield. Did you?’

‘Oh, yes, everyone loved Garfield. Wasn’t it lasagne he used to eat?’ I say.

‘That brings back memories. Yes, I’d never even tried a lasagne until I was introduced to it by Garfield.

’ The woman, who must be in her early sixties, laughs and chats with Debbie and me as she hands over the ten pounds for Garfield.

I am so happy to have found someone who values the importance of things from the past.

It might be looking good for the Garfield teddy but the same can’t be said for a Garfield lampshade. I look at it again; maybe I was a bit too enthusiastic to think that someone would actually want it in this day and age. I think that’s one for the bin.

Fortunately, I start selling more items after the woman walks off.

Perhaps she brought me some luck. Straight after her is a guy who buys my Walkman to show his daughter how we used to listen to music in the olden days.

I am pleased with the sale, even if there was no need for him to emphasise over and over again how many years ago it was since he listened to one.

By the end of the afternoon, I have made ￡250 and I couldn’t be more delighted.

‘I guess that’s it, Debs. May as well pack up.’

‘Yeah, I don’t think you did too badly.’

‘No, it’s only this lot we’ve got left.’

As I eye up the boot that is still half full of unwanted stuff, I offer Debbie the collection of Coronation Street videos.

‘Are you sure you don’t want these, Debbie?’

‘No, you’re alright.’

‘There might be Emmerdale, too,’ I say.

‘I don’t have a video recorder to play them on. I think that might be why they got left.’

‘Good point. How about the Spanish donkey and the castanets?’

‘No, you’re alright.’

‘Suit yourself then. If you’re sure you won’t regret it.’

‘I’m sure.’

We drive back to our street giggling about all the characters we’ve met over the course of the day. It has certainly been a fun experience.

‘We should have done this more often. I think you’ve inspired me to have my own clear-out. Nigel is a nightmare for buying golf jumpers that he never wears.’

‘I didn’t realise he was playing golf nowadays.’

‘He isn’t.’

We are still laughing by the time we pull up outside my house.

Debs has kindly offered to dispose of everything that is left to save me emptying the car and bringing it all into the house again.

She is such a good friend, and I hope she will visit me in Amsterdam as she has promised.

I would love to show her around once I am there and pay her back for all her support.

I reach for the cash that I made at the car boot sale and count it again before putting it to one side to change into euros.

I will keep it separately so that I can buy something special for the houseboat.

It will be nice to make my mark on a new home.

It might not be a family home, but it will be my home.

If I want a bright pink sofa, I can buy one.

This current house is quite muted with sensible colours, its magnolia walls long faded by the sun.

Paul never liked garish colours, and wanted the house to be practical and easy to maintain.

Unlike me, who has always loved bright things.

You have to compromise when you’re married, though, and I no longer have to do that.

Now, as I look around with most of my belongings gone, the house feels bare and unloved.

It no longer feels like the cosy home where my family ate, slept, laughed and occasionally bickered.

This could be anyone’s home, which it soon will be, as the next step is to put it on the market.