CLUTTER CENTRAL

Clearing out the detritus of ‘clutter’ hoarded over the past 50 years is no easy task.  For starters you don’t appreciate just how much stuff you’ve kept and when picking through it to decide if it’s being tossed out or not, you do wonder why you had it in the first place.

I mean, why on earth have I got a cardboard bottle of Southern Comfort?  I’m not going to elaborate on how this item was acquired – let’s just say it came into my possession as a result of youthful misdemeanors and we’ll leave it at that.  But in the overall scheme of things, it has no purpose other than to gather dust so it’s now got to go.

Southern Comfort still brings me joy

The fourth bedroom (for years used as a home office) is now under the clutter clear-out microscope.  It’s been the dumping ground for all those things you use every now and again but have no other place to store – picnic baskets, surplus bedding, old board games, photo albums you’ve not looked at in years and a vast array of cables/power leads that seem to have mysteriously multiplied in the dark. 

OMG - what a mess!

According to Marie Kondo, that arch nemesis of hoarders, you should get rid of all stuff that doesn’t bring joy into your life.  But let’s face it, at some point in time everything you had must have given some kind of joy.  Even that cardboard Southern Comfort bottle, it always put a big smile on my face looking over at it as I racked my brain thinking of something witty to blog. 

Still, I guess it’s now a time to say goodbye to all those things you’re unlikely to miss in your new life such as the magnetic crazy cat lady, a yellow NY cab and your collection of Clangers (no! never!).  Cheerio old friends. 

Every home should have one

Souvenir of trip to the Big Apple

Clangers are forever and not being got rid of

To help keep the remaining clutter in check, the recessed nook in the corner of the office has been turned into a cupboard.  Once sorted, whatever needs to come with us to our next abode will at least be out of sight if not out of mind.

How to hide clutter

Convert recess into a handy cupboard

Then paint it to make it look nicer

2020 VISION

Glug, glug, glug… Resurfacing from my sub-aquatic lair like a Kraken awakening after a long watery nap.  Has it stopped raining yet?  I’ve never known such a wet wishy-washy winter in all my recent years.  If I could only convert rain into some eco-fuel like Keanu Reeves did in that epic movie ‘Chain Reaction’ I’d be well and truly minted by now.

So I’ve woken up from soggy hibernation only to find I’m confined to my sopping surroundings by Covid-19 or Coronavirus, a condition that has sent the whole world into hysteria the likes of which was last seen when the Beatles played the Cavern Club decades ago. 

Hedgeye sums it up perfectly

Everyone’s gone crazy stockpiling everything from corn-plasters to Vimto.  The other half’s built himself a barricade of beer and pizza and I’ve decided dry cat food may be the answer to prospective food shortages so have purchased a truckload in case self-isolation becomes compulsory for residents of Charminster.  This is 2020 - what a crazy start to the year!

Coronavirus quarantine pod

And things are likely to get crazier still as we’re embarking on our own epic adventure to re-locate to Chichester.  Yes, after 20 years in Charminster, it’s time to up sticks and head off to pastures new in West Sussex.

Why Chichester?  Well, why not?  Having regularly visited the town during son’s university years, we actually thought the place seemed quite nice.  ‘Quite nice’ doesn’t really do it justice as it’s a jewel of a town nestling in a lovely bit of countryside.  Chichester seems to have it all – a good selection of shops in a compact and easily walkable pedestrianised zone, a Weatherspoon’s pub, train & bus station, beaches close by and above all character, something that seems to have gone out of the window in Bournemouth’s sprawling high rise, high density, student infested metropolis.

Chichester's market cross

Living in London has for many years been my life’s dream but the reality of buying an affordable property in a nice leafy suburb is less achievable than you think unless you’ve got a large tidy sum tucked away.  Short of killing my parents for an early inheritance or robbing a bank, chances of a life in London are slim hence our decision to move to Chichester.

Chichester will be a good halfway house for us, easily commutable to London (about 1 hr 45 mins to Eltham) and still within easy reach of Bournemouth for family visits.  The idea has been slowly percolating through the subconscious and now it’s time to make it a reality.

Of course you know what this means, don’t you?  There’ll be plenty of blog rants on the trials and tribulations of house buying/selling – oh the joy!  In the meantime, was that a sneeze?  Better batten down the hatches, scrub my hands till they bleed and place another online shopping order for paracetamol and loo rolls before they become rarer than hen’s teeth.

Hope she's bought enough Dreamies

A CHRISTMAS DEBACLE

So, I expect you’ve been wondering where I’ve been for the past few months?  Oh I see, you’ve been watching ‘I’m a Celebrity’ instead of checking to see if I’ve updated any new posts.  Well, never mind because now I’ve got Mondays off, there’ll be a whole lotta blogging going on.  (Spare us!)

I finally managed to ditch the troublesome gallbladder and spent a month ‘convalescing’ under the watchful eyes of Nurses Kitty and Catty.  I’m sure they did more resting than I did!

NHS cat nurses recommended to aid recovery after surgery

Thanks to the soup and cream cracker diet, I lost a few pounds too but with Christmas on the fatty horizon, I’ve got a lot of lost meals to make up and no doubt the scales will soon be tipping the other way. 

When you’ve got time on your hands and nothing else to do all day, you spend more hours in self-examination than ever.  I contemplated my navel most days and that was purely to check on the stitches from keyhole surgery.  Healed yet?  Nope, check again tomorrow.   I did this for about 25 days before finally getting bored and moving on to obsessing over signs of ageing.

Have you noticed how pouty, pink lips suddenly become the thin red line of displeasure almost overnight?  Mine get slathered in plump action lip balms on a daily basis but there’s more substance in a plastic bag for life than in this ‘kisser’.  It’s truly depressing.

I've spent thousands on lip plumping balms!

Almost as depressing as this novel I’m reading called ‘A Christmas Debacle’ by Charlie Wat-the-Dickens.  It’s the bleak tale of a middle aged chimney sweep who finds his livelihood has been stolen by migrant children who can climb up chimneys quicker and for fewer pennies. 

On his way to the workhouse, the chimney sweep encounters three terrifying spectres:  the Ghost of Christmas Past (a ghoul stuck in the 1970s that wants to bring chimneys under state control), the Ghost of Christmas Present (only there’s no present, cos it’s a phantom Tory) and the Ghost of Christmas Future (a larger than life phantasm who is propping up the bar with a pint in one hand and a ciggie in the other). 

These three ghosts then proceed to spend half the novel trying to befuddle the poor chimney sweep with conflicting Christmas policies and half-baked mince pies.  In the end driven to desperation and trapped in his hovel by a large pile of election decrees blocking the front door, the chimney sweep dies in tragic circumstances when a small, ugly green dragon accidently sets fire to a lump of straw instead of the Christmas pudding.  

Ah, they don’t write classics like that anymore.  The sequel is due for release after 12 December.

Warning - contains distressing scenes and child poverty

I DON'T LIKE MONDAYS

Break out the bubbly and pass round the Ferrero Rocher, Boris Johnson’s not the only one who’s got a new contract of employment.  Let’s raise a toast to giving work the finger (part II). And don’t you go nicking my idea for a 4 day week Jeremy Corbin because I got there first.

‘Don’t Give Up!  Retirement can be fatal’ proclaimed The Times supplement back in July.  Of course it is but not for you.  The Government has been crapping itself since the launch of its ‘pension freedoms’ which has allowed many middle aged muggles like myself to gleefully kick off their working shoes and skip joyfully into a sunset nirvana of early retirement or part time employment. 

Imagine how fatal it will be for employers when they realise that the younger, more energetic version of you they recruited gets their mum to phone in sick on their behalf every time their iPhone stops working?  Ha, ha, ha!  If only you could see me now, you’d know I’m playing a tune on the world’s smallest violin. 

For years I’ve been telling myself I couldn’t possibly afford to give up a full time job.  Who’d pay the bills?  Who’d buy treats for the cats?  How would I fund all those decadent trips to the theatre or metal gigs?  Well that was before I whipped out my trusty Casio pocket calculator and worked out that if I dipped a toe into my pension pot now, I could actually afford to work less or not at all.  And so from next week, I will no longer be reporting for duty on Mondays.

Like the Boomtown Rats, I’ve never liked Mondays. Or for that matter any other day that involves getting up at 5.30 am in the cold, or dark or with over exuberant radio DJ’s blathering on about how great it is to be a ‘six o’clocker’.  Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.  Really?  Personally, I’d settle for being a ‘nine or ten o’clocker’ if only I didn’t have to go to work.  

Maybe Monday’s – that’s what I’m going to call them from now on.  Maybe I’ll get out of bed (or not).  Maybe I’ll get dressed or spend all day in my PJs.  Maybe I’ll do some housework or binge watch ‘Nailed It’ on Netflix.  Maybe I’ll walk round to the charity shops for a bit of fresh air (isn’t it polluted?).  Maybe I’ll spend the day standing by the window peering through the nets to see what the neighbours are up to (you already do this says the other half).  Maybe I’ll knit myself into a garishly patterned strait jacket.  Maybe I’ll update my blog every week (miracle of miracles).  But there’s one thing for sure, I most definitely won’t be getting up to go to work on Mondays!

I don't like Mondays much either