Clear the Clutter.

There is nothing more therapeutic than doing a great big tip run.  Getting rid of all the stuff you don't need any more, making room for new things.

The TV shows where people have so much stuff they can't get into bed fascinate me.  A lot of my hoarding comes from laziness.  I genuinely can't be bothered to throw stuff away.  The Long Suffering Husband keeps bits of wood and rusty screws because, "you never know when they might come in useful."  He would only reluctantly throw away something that was broken because, "I could fix that!"  He also keeps the cardboard boxes from when we've bought large expensive items, "just in case they need to go back."  We can't be the only couple in the world to have a box for a Commodore 64 computer in the loft.

When throwing stuff away there is always a frisson of fear, a  thought that nags away, "What if I need it?" I think this is worse for people from poorer backgrounds.  Could it be an inherited genetic survival instinct?  If you don't know where your next jam sandwich is coming from you don't throw away the crusts just in case you are hungry tomorrow.

To cure myself of my hoarding habit I bought a simple little book by Karen Kingston called Clear Your Clutter (although some would argue that as I hoard books more than anything else it's not really a great purchase in the attempt to clear the rubbish) .  Her advice really helps me to clear my wardrobe out regularly.  She says that if you haven't worn it in a year you are not likely to and that you should give it a 3 month warning.  If you still haven't worn it then it needs to go.  I don't suppose this would work if you collect clothes, or shoes or handbags because then you are keeping them because you love them and not because you are too lazy to throw them away.

A Level Notes

When my daughter finished her A levels I suggested that she throw her notes away and make a bit more space in her room.  "But what if I fail?" she said.  "Then your notes were rubbish and you need to make more."  My Dad said, "Oh no, don't get rid of them, you never know when you might need them.  I've still got all my notes on how to work a telephone exchange in the loft.  If I ever need them I know where to find them."  As he hasn't used them in 40 years she agreed that maybe there was no point in keeping them but would wait until after she had her results.

"Why don't you have a burning party?" I stupidly suggested.  "You can BBQ and all burn your notes.  It will be therapeutic!"

That is what is happening right now, outside my patio doors.  As I sit and type this, the Long Suffering Husband is enjoying what he says is like Big Brother on a huge screen.  It looks fun.  The whole garden and house is filled with smoke, the box of notes is slowly emptying, food is being eaten and Prosecco being drunk.

There are people bouncing on the trampoline, swigging from bottles of WKD and toasting flumps over the incinerator. It makes me wish I was young again.

There is only one thing that worries me.

Who would store a toddler in a plastic box?