My dad owns a bed shop so I’ve got an inside contact for beds, mattresses and bedroom furniture at cost. By which I mean: at cost for my dad and the business but 100 per cent discounted for me.
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The consequence is I’ve been somewhat overly-casual in collecting beds and furniture. Last year I started renting an unfurnished house with three bedrooms, which I now share with one of my team-mates and a maniac we know called Megan. So I filled the place with beds and furniture and had a lot of fun playing house. It felt nice to own a dining table, and a sofa-bed, and one of those huge storage units from IKEA, all these things that root you to a place. Until I suddenly realised I was rooted to a place.
Neah (Evans, that’s the team-mate I live with) drives a small Peugeot and feels like she’s let herself go too far because she can no longer pack her life into one car-load (when she moved in with me I think it took three runs). If I get kicked off the squad tomorrow, well I certainly can’t just pack my three beds up into the back of my Mini and get out of here. I’m going to be stuck in Manchester with all these rugs that seemed so essential at the time, all these chairs and lamps and desks. Why do I need to own two desks?
I see two options. The first is to sell almost everything I own and strip back to the bare essentials. That would be five bikes, a mattress on the floor, a microwave, and a toothbrush. The second option is to focus on my training and aim to avoid getting kicked off the squad for at least another year, maybe seven, so I don’t need to get all these beds down the stairs again. I’ll have to make a list of pros and cons; will let you know which plan I settle on next week.
This Katie Archibald column originally appeared in the print edition of Cycling Weekly, on sale in newsagents and supermarkets, priced £3.25.