Firstly, let's clear something up right now. I was not the man playing the mandolin on the last post. That was this guy. I thank you for your flattery, but really. I got the mandolin in December. I can play the first few bars of 'Din dirin din' and three chords, and that's about it. (This is Din dirin din, if you're wondering. And I should point out in case of confusion that in addition to not being a mandolin player from Ohio, neither am I a member of the King's Singers.)
My January declutter is going very well. Already I have
- Found the missing zombie book AND the Christmas gift card;
- Discovered three obsolete wireless routers hiding in the cellar and sent them back to BT in freepost envelopes;
- Reported a debit card lost and then found it 3 hours later inside an envelope;
- Found a light curtain bought before we even had children and then hidden in the loft. Why? All these years, and we have been denied the joy of snuggling down in bed to read a book with this as a backdrop.
What has struck me, however, is that every time I tidy up I create more problems for myself. I put things in ingenious places, only to discover when I want them that they are so ingenious I have forgotten where they were. Somewhere in this house is a descant recorder, tidied away lovingly until Littlest starts to learn. Littlest has started to learn - but where is the descant recorder? It is not with Musical Instruments. It is not with Silk Painting Supplies or Kites. (I thought it might be. You begin here to get an idea of why my organisational logic might regularly fail.) I have taken to labelling boxes with Sharpie markers: "Torches and tape"; "Wires and straps" - but still, the places where I put away miscellaneous objects in my last decluttering insanity elude me.
I like to refer to cleaning things and tidying up not as housework, but as 'battling the forces of chaos'. It has come to my attention that one of the strongest of those forces is actually me.