I knew clearing out my Edinburgh flat would be tough, but I didn't expect it to be so embarrassing

Thus, the grand clear out begins, as our July move-in date slowly approaches.

As we’re a pair of hoarders, it’s no small job.

We’re lucky to have an awful lot of storage space, and, my goodness, over the last 12 years, we’ve filled every inch. Although we’re upsizing a bit, the new place hardly has any cupboards at all, so we have to be totally ruthless in our decluttering.

It’s been a strange process, like peeling back layers of time. I find it quite emotionally draining. However, at the same time, I feel as if I want to get rid of all my inanimate ties and start again with a fresh slate. While I’m tethered to so much clutter, I will never fulfill my dream to get on Scotland’s Home of the Year 2026.

I’d quite like to just put everything in a giant macerator, and watch it all be chewed to pulp. That would make me feel lighter and slightly more Buddhist.

However, failing that, I don’t want to bin things. Instead, I’m trying to freecycle, or sell on Vinted or Gumtree.

Perhaps, as the moving date draws closer, I might change my mind and need a panic trip to the dump.

As far as random finds go, down in our cellar, I unearthed all sorts of ancient nonsense, including an accordion. It’s mine, as I decided, about 20 or so years ago, that I wanted to learn to play. I was thinking I’d start with Ebeneezer Goode, by The Shaman, then move into some folky tunes. My wish came true when my husband bought me a beginner’s version for my birthday. After it was unwrapped, I never touched it again, and he brought it up, to torture me, every couple of years.

This is not atypical. I often have hobbyist fantasies, then ditch the idea after I realise I have to make a significant investment of time.

For example, when I was a teenager, my dad bought me an expensive sewing machine, when I decided I wanted to make my own clothes, and I used it about three times to whip up a batch of Sixties-style A-line dresses, before ignoring it.

Incidentally, I have recently rehomed that item, too, after 30-odd years of hanging on. I couldn’t find the pedal and power cord, but they happily took it anyway.

Perhaps I should be made to drag these items along on a rope behind me, as penance.

I’ve learnt, over time, to stop acting on these whims, but to wait until the feeling of wanting to learn something new passes. It always does.

Anyway, back to the neglected accordion, which had been slowly mouldering under a pile of other boxes. I inspected it. Bit dusty but, otherwise, it looked fine, so I whacked it on Gumtree for £30. Someone got in touch, a few days later, to say they wanted it, and could they pop by at the weekend. I’d be out and about, but my husband could pass it on, and take the readies.

When I got home, I asked him how it’d gone. Apparently, the guy had come all the way from Fife. He could play, and wanted to give it a whirl before buying. Fair enough.

After slinging the strap over his shoulder, he began his tune. However, when he pressed the first chord, all the keys fell out, and clattered onto the floor.

My husband went red, tried to pick up the monochrome notes, which had yeeted everywhere, and asked him if he wanted to take it for free. No thanks, the man said, and left.

When I heard the story, I was SO mortified that my toes curled up and went inside-out. I actually wanted to weep.

“Well, try being the one who had to stand there and watch the accordion fall to bits,” my husband said, very unsympathetically, I thought.

And, so, into the bin it went. I wanted to message the guy to apologise, but I thought it was better to just go into hiding. Perhaps it was time for me to become a hermit, up in the Pentlands.

There have been other more successful sales, with a tenner here and there.

I’ve found our local Facebook free share group super useful, when it comes to rehoming items that might otherwise end up in landfill.

For example, I decided to get rid of a Seventies camp-bed, which I’d rescued from my mum’s house when she moved a couple of years ago. I was SO sentimental about it, because we used it for all my childhood sleepovers. It’s such a sturdy thing, with its paisley green and mustard canvas print and trampoline-like springs. It’s also quite clunky, and squeaky. Time to go, especially as it seems that everyone uses inflatable mattresses these days, or proper sofa beds.

I didn’t think anyone would want it, but it got snapped up quickly, by someone with kids.

I felt quite happy for it, as I waved it off to its new life of midnight feasts and all-night chatting. Or, just, feeling useful again, how nice.

My other half has also been waving off a few trusty old objects.

He nearly cried when he sold his Scott road bike - the one that’s been on lots of adventures, including taking him up the Stelvio Pass - and the only-used-once bike bag, which a young guy collected, as he was going on a trip to Italy with his dad.

These things have got to go, because our new house does not have space for a peloton’s worth of bikes.

And it certainly does not have room for a broken accordion. Cringe.