February 9: Thief

Mother has buggered-off on holiday. Why she has done this when she moves in a week’s time, I do not know. I think she planned to move house beforehand, and pencilled in this week in the sun as a relaxing treat post all the stress and chaos, but then all the dates slid. As it is, middle sister is less than impressed and has entered full chuck-out mode (she thinks that if we leave it all to mum for when she comes back, she won’t manage it). More boxes arrive from Pickfords. We pack. And pack. We dream of packing; unfolding the flat-pack boxes, running duct tape along the seams, packing, folding, labelling. Somehow, it's easier when it is someone else's stuff. My sister takes the granny flat, now empty of people but still chock-full of possessions and memories. I take the drink's cupboard, start lifting out the glass bottles, laying them on their sides on the kitchen worktop, wrapping them in paper, placing them in a huge box labelled ‘New House – Booze’. Then the devil in me can't resist. If mother’s going to bugger off and leave us to do the work, I’m taking some payment. I pinch one bottle of Bombay Sapphire, one of Baileys, one Bruichladdich, half a bottle of Vodka, two bottles of lemonade, one of coke, and two tonic waters. She’ll have forgotten by the time she gets around to unpacking everything. I may not be able to drink them at the moment. But June's not so far away.. and they'll be something to celebrate, won't there.