I got to thinking this week that I really need to seriously declutter. Instead of farting around, producing tiny wins and pretty pictures, I had to confront the big stuff.
Today, I started with our bedroom.
I’ve been a right old weepy wreck since the A-level results and confirmation that Rosie’s off to university this weekend. I dunno. What a schmaltz-hound. Richy and the other kids have been very patient and supportive as I’ve blubbed walking around the supermarket, passing old favourites like bourbon biscuits, hot chocolate and tuna, seeing a box set of Desperate Housewives in HMV, walking past her old primary school at chucking out time.
I don’t know why, but when my feet got cold this afternoon, it became hugely important to find matching socks. This was no easy task but, after 40 odd years of never giving a hoot about socks, the little buggars had to match. How weird is that?
It was so strangely important, I started to attach magical outcomes to the achievement of finding a pair. Continue reading