Clearing Dad's house in Gold Coast

We've been in Gold Coast for a while now, and this was the first time I'd paid someone to take rubbish away. Nan had lived in her unit for thirty years. When she died, the family couldn't agree on anything for a while, and by the time we did, the body corporate wanted it emptied.

He'd kept everything: forty years of tax returns, his work tools, the good china, three televisions and a shed full of fishing gear.

Gold Coast is a city of beachside towers, canal homes, family suburbs and hinterland acreage, and getting things out isn't always simple. We bring the right truck for the street, from tight unit driveways to wide acreage tracks.

I sent a couple of photos and got a call back within the hour. They gave me a rough idea on the phone but said they'd confirm a fixed price when they saw it in person.

They parked so the back of the truck lined up with the side gate, put a drop sheet down at the door and asked me to show them anything that was staying.

They asked before moving anything that looked personal. A few times they brought me something from the back of a drawer, like a ring and a letter, that we'd have lost otherwise.

By the time I'd made them a coffee, it was nearly finished. The price didn't change, and they even took a couple of extra bits I'd forgotten about without charging more.

I'd tried to do it myself twice before. Next time I'm just ringing straight away.