We are moving house. Well, we don't actually have a house to move to but we are, nonetheless, moving. Cue Mam on a mamoth packing spree and to say she's like Monica from Friends is an understatement. The mere suggestion by Dad that she just "empty the draw into the box and shut the lid" prompted a 7 min rant on how much he didn't understand the ins and outs of packing and removal, which left him, quite frankly, speechless.
Each box is labelled on all sides and twice on the lid. All items contained within the box are wrapped in bubble wrap or (and in some cases and) kitchen towel. Those items deemed 'Extremely Fragile" the thresh hold of which is anything made of a natural fibre, have had made for them a specialist cardboard divider so they sit snuggly in the box allowing space for their allocated bubble wrap, kitchen paper and towel, they are then packed with shredded paper, just in case.
She has also gone mental with Vacuum Bags...basically if it fails to meet the Fragility Thresh Hold, it gets vacuum packed...and while we have all been amazed at the bags capacity to reduced 2 double duvets and bedding to the size of a gnat, Annie has started to cry whenever the hoover is produced out of fear one of those bags has her name on it.
All this brings me to the title of this post. While Mam is rigorous to say the least in her cleaning routine (again, Monica...) the recent pack down has resulted in an inexplicable amount of dust. And I'm not just talking on the top of picture frames, it's everywhere...and seems to be gathering itself together in what I can only think is an attempt to form a carpet. What's more worrying is that Mam doesn't seem to have noticed, as the hoover is busily condensing the towel filing system to flannel size, the dust balls are billowing round the house like tumble weed but the hoover is never turned on them.
The frightening pace at which the dust has materialised and, subsequently multiplied has led me to conclude that this dust is organised. It is not your everyday, genteel, snow covering-type dust, that all of us find nestling snuggly and harmlessly on top of the skirting board, unmoved. This is dust with a purpose, a vision and and end goal, striking fear into the hearts of unsuspecting spiders and small lions alike.
And as our home becomes every more a Health and Safety nightmare - boxes piled so high, they would kill a lion if they fell, the constant worry that if I sit still long enough I might have a first hand experience of what it's like to be a supermarket packed smoked mackerel, and the disconcerting presence of over ambitious dust - my only solution is to try and befriend the dust balls, as, come the revolution, I'm not sure I want to be against them...