Let me tell you about Sunday.  Normally its a time of the week for mid-day slumber and a game of golf.  The religious go to mass and the pub.  This Sunday was, for me, a day of early morning panic and sleeplessness.  I had to move house and I had done no preparation or packing.  Worse, I had no place to move to.  Pete, a friend of mine, had offered my temporary shelter in the living room of his home.  I was going to have to avail of it.

I tried to calm myself by thinking of people who handle pressure well.   I asked myself, what would James Bond do in this situation.  So I slowly unzipped the Swedish supermodels slinky dress and watched it fall into a heap at her ankles and told her, in fluent Swedish, that I knew she wanted to kill me but I wanted to make love to her first and we could talk about it afterwards in the romantic haze of smoke from an expensive cigarette.  The noise of church bells shook me from my reverie.  "Forget about James Bond, I'm fucked", I said as I ran out the door to buy bin bags.

3 minutes later I was storming back to the house with 6 bin bags.  My mind, like that of a well trained killer, was plotting how best to use the bin bags when I got back to the house.  I had 6.  One would be for rubbish.  That was obvious.  The other 5 would have to contain the rest of my stuff.  Stuff, I thought, was too unclear a word to describe my stuff.  So I invented the term "life-items".  I was watching Star Trek the evening before.  So I began to create 5 categories for everything that I own.  What I am about to reveal to you is a first in the field of Categorization Research.  Lots of people occupy themselves with categorizing silly things like animals and plants.  Why do they bother, because they all belong to one of two categories:  those that taste good, and those that don't.  Life-items are not so easy to classify.  So, to prevent you reading ahead in your excitement, here are the 5 categories of life-items:

        1       T-shirts
        2       Socks, jocks, towels and jumpers
        3       Jeans
        4       Toiletries and general hygiene related life-items
        5       Misc

Thus I filled my sacks.  At this stage I realized that, at a high level, there are two categories of life-items:

        1 Things too big to fit in bin bags.
        2 Those that will

I had a number of category 1 items ( cat 1 ) and they presented a problem in the moving process.  That is until I came to a Solution.  I rang my Da and asked him to come up with the cattle trailed to haul all my cat 1's back down for storage in the hayshed until I got a permanent place to stay.  Soon afterwards he arrived.  It reminded my of a movie about the wild west, when the cavalry to the rescue to a poor woman being tortured by an evil band of aborigines.  I began loading the trailer with my cat 1's.  I got a gash on my head in the process.  I was loading my bookcase into the trailer when one of the shelves fell out.  The corner of the shelf hit me on the head, right at my hair line.  I was zombie like in my determination to get the fucking bookcase into the trailer though, and didn't feel the pain of impact of wood and bone.  It was only afterwards when my dad said "what the fuck did you do to your head?" and I said "what?" that I saw the stream of blood begin to make its way down the lens of my glasses that I realized I had been hit by one of the aborigines flint-tipped arrows.  My Dad pulled the arrow out and plugged the hole with the 'bacca he was chewing and I felt right as rain again.  He set off in chase of the aborigines and continued to do so until the anadin I took began to take effect on me and I regained my senses.

So now, all I have in Dublin, in the livingroom of my temporary residence, are cat 2 items. They are all arranged vertically in the confines of black bin bags.  The really useful items are all at the bottom.  I think there is a possibility for sub-categorization of cat 2 items there.  I am sleeping on a camp bed.  Peter was kind enough to install a port-a-loo beside my bed to remind me that I was essentially homeless.  The bed is about 3 inches too short for me and at night I have to decide which end of me is going to have to hang over the end - my feet or my head.  So far the feet have lost out.  "I think we were badly designed for camp beds", I said as I tried to find a comfortable position.  "I think we can cope", said the Swedish supermodel in a sexy smile as took her dress from the heap on the floor  and went into the port-a-loo with her black sack of "Toiletries and general hygiene related life-items".