Safe 'n' Sound

Mick and I went to Maitland - Rutherford, actually, the next town further west – to put his possessions in storage.
He's lived in a small one-bedroom apartment for about 30 years but seems to have acquired several lifetimes worth of mystery possessions.
He didn't label a single box.
He's also cavalier with securing his cargo; we were like Steptoe & Son meets The Beverly Hillbillies:


The trip up was notable for the strange, grey weather and the fact that, as far as I could tell, every driver behind us gave us at least a 20-metre berth, presuambly terrified that a random item of Mick's - a stack hat; a hacksaw - might free itself en route. I would have been.
Fortunately, I couldn't see much; what appeared from behind the tarpaulin - apart from being "closer than they appear" - were usually menacing:


Afetr a forced detour (turns out a truck struck a footbridge near Maitland) we arrived at Safe 'n' Sound, an immaculately bleak operation with a nice line in sexy bloke staff:


It took two sweaty hours, a brief downpour and 'strictly no smoking' but somehow we eventually crammed Mick's existence into the equivalent of a roomy walk-in wardrobe.

The home hunt begins.