One stop on the tube to cross the river, and a twenty-something-minute walk took me from the concrete jungle, where I work, to a canalside, an enchanted woodland and streets ruled by bold, daring foxes. In that magical land, I found Mrs M's home.

Aren't you too little for moving boxes?
Why? Are they up high?
Well, no...
Let's have a look at them then!

It's been really hot in the flat, so I took off my work shirt. The sight of the black GoodGym t-shirt, and my arms perhaps, cemented my creds as qualified to do the job. Phew.

If I was in such shape, I’d be moving boxes from here to Liverpool! - Mrs M.

The bedroom was full of... stuff. Everywhere. And boxes, which sadly didn't make it into the report photos. I took time to slowly fish out the requirements from Mrs M, who, although being a lovely lady with a sense of humour, was hard of hearing and, as she shared, was in the early stages of dementia. I gathered that she wanted access all the way to the radiator on the opposite side of the room, which was blocked not only by boxes, but also by a hospital bed. In addition to that, there was a massive massage armchair in the bedroom to make the mission more exciting.

Without hesitation, I threw myself into a game of a large-scale jigsaw puzzle, moving boxes and furniture back and forth. First, I needed to gain access to storage, where, as agreed with Mrs M, I could relocate some clothes and shoes found in boxes and on the floor. As we've opened the cartons, Mrs M would decide whether to keep things out, put them into the storage, or bin them (that's where old packaging I found ended up).

Mrs M raised the bar of the game, as she needed to walk to the living room to lie down more comfortably, then to the kitchen to get some water, then back to the living room. For each Mrs M's relocation, I had to shift the boxes in the corridor since at that point I had nowhere else to put them. Mrs M was confident she would go past the cartons with her walking frame (which wasn't physically possible) and insisted she would get a glass of water herself - only to call me later to the kitchen so that I could pour her some water, which I had offered to do earlier. Little did I know, we were about to have a lovely chat in the kitchen, after which I had no doubt of how interesting a character and a kind person Mrs M was.

After the break, Mrs M stayed in the kitchen to rest a bit more and gave me creative licence in rearranging the rest of the bedroom, already being delighted with the progress. She revealed she used to be an architect and would have loved to work with me on some decorating projects.

I stuffed the storage with items we had agreed to put away, collected rubbish, and shifted the hospital bed by 90 degrees, as I saw no other alternative to create access to the radiator. I also found a better place for the armchair, cleared the bed of clutter, and left some items in the bags from storage for Mrs M to go through at her own pace.

My idea to temporarily push all the empty boxes towards the flat's door to make room for Mrs M to freely move between the rooms wasn't foolproof. I hadn't anticipated that the carer, another Ms M, would come to check on Mrs M and heat up a meal for her. The carer hadn't expected to find a pile of boxes when entering the flat, but she was grateful to see Mrs M's hospital bed finally free of clutter.

When Ms M (the carer) left, I packed the recycling bin with collapsed cardboard boxes and waited for Mrs M to finish her soup and see what her bedroom looked like after the transformation.

Good? - I asked.
No. Not good. Fantastic!

Mrs M could not contain her enthusiasm and sat on a newly decluttered bed, looking around at her revamped bedroom. I’m telling you, no one in life makes you feel as appreciated as the mission beneficiaries do!