We got a whole bunch of boxes (like 20 or so) second hand from the Pick 'n Pay up the road. Turns out they have a whole container out the back, next to the loading area where trucks come and go, wholly dedicated to the sorting, distributing and recycling of cardboard boxes.
Once the omo, chips, whiskey, apples and cooldrinks have been removed from the boxes, they are ferried in elderly reject shopping trolleys through to this gentleman who rules over the box container...
He works from 8am to 7pm in the small, dark container, which makes loud farting noises if you tread on the floor in the wrong place. Anyway, you tell him what kinds of boxes you'd like (he's got lots - all the way from teeny tiny to enormous) and then he helps you to pull them out of the heap. He's really good at divining what size a box is just by looking at the flap that's sticking out of the pile.
After all that, it seems quite ungrateful just to take the boxes off, put them back together with packing tape and stuff a whole lot of books, crockery, clothes and kittens in them.
But of course once the kitten is tired of sitting in the box...
...he can always eat it!
"Look mom, I killed it!"
I'm not sure if this is a fitting end to such a noble creature as the cardboard box. On the whole I think it might be.
Ah ... moving! Start keeping a special 'relocating' diary (or should that be journeyal?) now. By the time you are my age, you will have a big, fat, publishable book.
ReplyDeletehmmm... good idea! well consider this the first entry in my journeyal!
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