I’ve got that restless, rootless feeling. There are loads of things that need doing in the house – including a major revamp of the central heating – but I can’t muster up the botheration to get it all moving, even though the bathwater is tepid every morning and the girls’ radiators are covered with ice. I know that I need to sort out (read throw away) a ton of old shoes, otherwise our cupboards will be rammed forever more with pairs and pairs that don’t fit/fit but are agony/haven’t been worn for years because they are such agony/are still covered with mud that I never got round to removing because I was hobbling so much due to the agony/have got that slightly twisted look of shoes which have quietly died before they could cause more agony.
And there is the mountain of unworn jumpers/coats/scarves etc, not just mine but everyone else’s, which are clogging the place up like baconfat clinging to an artery. I did see an ad in a magazine the other day for a declutterer, who comes round to streamline your wardrobe, like a Dukan diet for clothes. I couldn’t face the scorn, though. ‘When did you last wear this?’ ‘What were you thinking when you bought this?’ I can get all that from my own daughters. I’m not sure I need to pay for it too.
Oh dear. It’s all too much to contemplate. But contemplate it I must – because I can’t get on with Book 2 while there’s all this crap swirling around the house. It has to go. Wish me luck.