Suburban Decay

The house has begun to turn in on itself and the back garden is in a state of disrepair.  The gorgeous workshop where I used to go to hide and smoke my purloined Carlton 100s resembles a horror movie setting.

I don't where to start unpicking this particular ball of yarn. I stand in front of the workshop, weeds and wildflowers waste high, overwhelmed.

1800 Got Junk, a friend said to me last Sunday. They'll just take care of all of it. 

Pick out the things you want, and just get rid of the rest.

I'm not sure where to start.