Shag, Marry or Chuck off a cliff?

I have been busy recreating that bit out of Close Encounters when Richard Dreyfuss builds a big hill out of clay in his front room . Except with clothes.

Deciding which clothes to take to the US is unbearable. I love my clothes. I'm no fashionista - in fact, recent viewing of old Spice Girl videos has reaffirmed my belief that my fashion development stopped circa 1998 - but I have a lot of stuff. I'm your basic jeans and t-shirt kind of girl; there's a part of me that will be Forever Student, mixed with a fair old dash of theatricality and a slight hint of Rock Chick. I mainly do High Street, with the occasional well chosen label and a lot of Vintage - dammit, I was into Vintage before it got a capital V! I adore cashmere, have more boots than shoes and own a vast collection of Fat Face chenille socks (an invaluable writing tool). I have a thing about oversized pajama bottoms. I wear a different hat almost everyday and I can never have too many wrap dresses, long coats, scarves and denim.

I'm a sentimental horder. I have a pair of Converse from 1991 that I bought in Australia when I was backpacking and simply cannot get rid of because they have been through so much with me. I have a skirt from when I was 10 - it's been altered, but I STILL wore it up till about 5 years ago because it reminds me of being 10. I have a couple of my Dad's shirts (he died 7 years ago) that make me smile when I wear them to paint the flat or clean the kitchen floor.

I cannot throw anything out. The thought of storing these things for 2 years and them not seeing the light of day makes me feel a bit glum and pointless. The thought of taking them to the States makes me feel ridiculous.

There's such a skill in being able to pack a capsule wardrobe. One of my oldest friends recently went to Dubai for a week. She was unsure of what to take and showed me her suitcase. The case was large, and rattling around in the bottom somewhere were 3 casual dresses, a skirt, 2 tops and a swimming costume. I was gobsmacked. Where were all the clothes? She turned her back for a few minutes and I chucked in some more items, so panicked was I on her behalf. When I went on honeymoon in 2006, I took 14 bikinis. Yes, 14. And a swimming costume. And 2 tankinis. 3 sarongs. 4 coverups. And that's only the swimwear. We were only away for 2 weeks; some days I changed 4 times. It was fabulous.

Yet, recently I've been stuck in a sartorial rut. A combination of stress, no time and weight gain has left me wearing the same pair of jeans and uber-comfy wooly pullys. I'm at a place in my life where it's hard to imagine when I'll be slipping out in my amazing platform-stripper-boots and that suede mini skirt. Am I {gasp} now too old to wear such items? Should I store 'em or ship 'em...or chuck 'em?

Friends say I'll buy lots of new exciting stuff while I'm out there. So in every drawer there are a million decisions to be made. When I said I was creating a hill of clothes, actually it's more acurate to say there are 3 hills: US-bound, storage and charity shop. Shag, Marry or Chuck off a Cliff. Currently, it's safe to say I'm doing a lot of shagging.