The Brother is coming tomorrow to claim the sideboard, an old family piece for which we will not have room in the new house. I've had that sideboard since 1976 (before that date it lived with my parents), and I'm regretting, but not regretting, the decision to part with it. The fact is that we won't need it, and The Brother and his wife do.

The kitchen renovation in the new house in Stratford includes a built-in wall unit comprising floor-to-ceiling china cabinets, drawers for table linen and a serving surface. So the old sideboard really is surplus to our requirements, while The Brother and his wife live in a Victorian house with a separate dining room and zero stowage for all the things you stow in a chiffonier-type sideboard. He should have it. Really.

I'll keep telling myself that until it's out of the house.

I am now deep in discussions by email with the designer-cabinetmaker who will build our new kitchen. He's a great guy, I've decided, because he clearly understands what cooks need in the way of workspace and provides CAD drawings to show what he has in mind. It will be a very expensive project -- at least by our standards -- so I am rather trepid about it.