So, the sleeves get rolled up and I start to attack the masses of stuff and I find I have learned from my last foray into tidiness. “Your 21st birthday,” I add under my breath as I survey the bags and bags and bags of clothes, boxes of toys, tonnes of paperwork, mountains of magazines, a full wardrobe I’d completely forgotten about, as well as the usual Christmas decorations and extra duvets and rubbish you’re supposed to have hanging around an attic. “You’ll be in for your birthday!” I declare grandly, pulling down the Stira to have a squint. I used it as an office in my freelancing days, sure it just needs a bit of a clear out and it’ll be grand. So in a fit of what can only be utter madness, we say we’ll get a permanent stairs sorted for going up to the attic, which is already converted. Our eldest son asks for his own bedroom as his present for turning eight. I would live a simpler, happier life, free from the clutter and fast fashion and the consumer craziness that my past self wallowed in.Īlas, the best-laid plans of mice and men and mothers oft do go astray. I would never buy an unnecessary piece of clothing again.

The bigger boys’ toys would be in baskets with like-minded toys and their Lego would be boxed and they’d put it back where they got it every time, congratulating each other heartily on a jolly good spaceship design before skipping off to wash their hands and fix their bow ties before dinner. The baby’s socks would forever more remain paired. My bedlinen would stay organised and flat and folded and well behaved in the airing cupboard.

How to declutter mac 2017