Four bedrooms, one weekend in Broadbeach

I'm in Broadbeach, and I'll be honest: I put this off for far too long. Mum moved into aged care in March, and the house had to be on the market by May. My brother and I live three hours apart and both work, so every weekend we spent there felt like moving a mountain with a teaspoon.

Every wardrobe was full. The linen press had sheets from the eighties. The rumpus room had a pool table nobody had played on in a decade, a treadmill used as a clothes rack, and boxes of school projects we couldn't throw out but didn't want to keep either.

Broadbeach is a busy dining and resort precinct of towers, cafes and retail tenancies, and getting things out isn't always simple. We coordinate dock bookings and lift protection with building managers.

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.

Halfway through, we found Dad's old letters in a shoebox under the stairs. Chris stopped the job, handed me the box and said to take as long as I needed. They kept working around me without making a thing of it.

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.