Anyone who has spoken to me in the past 23 months or so will know that I have become mildly obsessed with moving house.

For those who have patiently stayed the course and are still talking to me, watching my anxiety levels escalate as Actual Moving Day begins to seem the stuff of reality rather than dreams, acknowledgement that my obsession has now reached chronic and epic proportions is to be expected.

I think, breathe, dream, plan and wake thinking packing cases. Black plastic sacks. Trips to the tip and to numerous charity shops. I even contemplate discarding all possessions and moving home entirely footless and fancy free.

But of course that’s just an indulgent and entirely foolish fantasy.

Even so, it has to be said that some serious Life Laundry needs to be done in order to rid myself of Endless Things, most of which I didn’t even know I possessed until opening a disregarded cupboard or drawer.

But the books!

How do I trim and slim down my excessive number of paperbacks, hardbacks, slim volumes, weighty tomes that inhabit my present house?

It’s proving to be a very hard task.

So far, my rule of thumb (no idea what that expression means …) has been to take to charity shops any novels that I have not enjoyed so will not revisit.

But that still leaves 95% of my book collection cosy and intact upon the shelves.

And even though I have read all the Anita Brookner, Carol Shields, Anne Tyler, William Boyd, Ian McEwan, Penelope Lively, Margaret Drabble – and so on – novels I possess, I often dip in and read all or part of them again. Obviously, Jane Austen and the Brontes, Dickens and George Eliot and Thomas Hardy have to stay – it would feel like disposing of a Great and Wise Aunt or Uncle if I turned my back on any of them.

As for the growing number of books I own that are published by Persephone Books, I have already identified a place in my new home where these unique and wonderful editions will live.

But I have tried to be more ruthless.

That copy of Hamlet that I scrawled notes all over when studying English Literature A level in some decade in the 20th century- is it really so very essential that I keep it? After all, if I find myself teaching the play again, I will want to buy a brand new copy with a good glossary.

That dog-eared edition of Chaucer’s The Miller’s Tale that I bought for my first teaching post – blushing, at the tender age of 23, as I explained to students only 5 or 6 years younger than me, what was going on and exactly what the words meant – do I really need to keep it? No. Discard. Cast aside. And I’ve placed my collection of Tennyson – a battered edition and never one of my favourite Victorian poets- to one side. He won’t be included in a packing case to be carried and duly unpacked in my new home.

But then there are all the children’s books – carefully and proudly bought for my young son to encourage a love of reading. How can I possibly dispose of any Postman Pat books? And as for even considering getting rid of We’re Going on a Bear Hunt or Each, Peach, Pear, Plum – impossible. And Shirley Hughes’ wonderful Alfie Stories – with her enchanting illustrations supporting each tale about Alfie and his sister, Annie Rose – it’s impossible for me to even consider giving any of them away.

And yet I know only too well that if ever life in the future delightfully prompts a need for such books once more, I will no doubt go straight out and buy new copies that lack the grime of milk stains and toddler’s chocolate-stained finger prints and orange juice.

But sentiment is the opponent of Book Laundry.

Books with inscriptions that were gifts carefully chosen, or given to mark a particular occasion are also proving impossible to part with as they trawl with them both the memory of the giver and the occasion which they marked.

Then there are the books that have been treasured since my own childhood.

Princess Book of Ballet for Girls – I have three of these annuals and cannot possibly be expected to be parted from them. And don’t even get me started on the Lorna Hill ballet books – hard backs too.

Then there’s Collins Little Folks Album ….well, this seems to me a positively historic document – one steeped in the stereotypes of a mid 20th century world.

The first story is entitled An Errand for Mother and details the adventures of young twins, Susan and Sally, no more than 7 or so, sent along the road into the village alone to post a letter for mother and buy some buns for tea. All sorts of mishaps occur with cows and a sudden rainstorm and a lost shilling before eventually the little girls return home to mother who presumably has spent the afternoon reclining in a chair or writing another letter to be posted. These days, she’d be anticipating a phone call from social services for maternal neglect!

The past, as L.P. Hartley notably told us at the start of The Go-Between is certainly another country where people do things differently.

And that’s another novel that will certainly be escaping my cull – which is beginning to seem not as comprehensive as I’d intended.

But books are reflections of ourselves – our interests, passions, tastes and personalities.

And they can evoke memories of where and when read -like a touchstone for past times and events in our lives.

No wonder I am finding Book Laundry a considerably challenging experience.

In fact, now I think of it, perhaps I’ll take Tennyson with me, after all. For one glance at Maud or Lotus Eaters or Ulysses and I’m back on the 27 bus in my student days, chugging my way through Camden to Kentish Town ahead of a seminar on the Victorian Poet Laureate himself.

Wish me luck with the rest of my Life Laundry – like moving itself, it’s proving to be the most stressful of activities!