I’m moving house again, which means I’ve got to deal with the treasure trove of perverse crap the previous tenants decided was too dark to move with them into their new life. I’ve always made some effort to clear my flat before moving out. You know, get rid of the old birthday cards, empty pill bottles, and nude posters of Paul Rudd. But I am, it seems, in the minority because every single room, flat, and house I’ve moved in to has been awash with the detritus of the person who lived there before me. Read more »
