I was brought up not to waste things, which is admirable, and I still do try not to be wasteful. However, there is a downside which is called Not Throwing Things Out When You No longer Need Them. I’ve mentioned several times that I write in my little room, looking out of the window over the village to the curve of the Mendip Hills i.n the background. There are bookshelves all around me, my fish Graham swimming around in his fish tank, there’s no door (I had it taken out) so there is direct access onto the hall landing. It sounds perfect, doesn’t it?
The reality, however has become very different from the imagined cosy nook. Part of the reason is that we now have an extra person in the household, and all that person’s multitude of possessions, and what was a room I used for books and storage has now been surrendered. I am now ankle deep in piles of things, every bookshelf is double stacked, the tops of them piled with random stuff which has no other home. It’s shocking, it’s a disgrace, it’s a complete muddle.
I keep resolving to attack this chaos but then my procrastination swings in and I think I’ll just write a quick blog, I’ll just start the next story for writing group, I’ll just go back the the novel I’m working on – or maybe the other novel I haven’t finished, or the one which I once started which has a chap called Gus wandering across a salt marsh. I pull myself up, resolve to get back to unmuddling the muddle, but then I think I might need a cup of tea to give me strength – and so it goes on.
Well, it’s a bit late now – I do have to write a story for the group, I have to keep my eye on the time to pick up husband from ukulele practice, my mug does seem to be empty, I should practice my Danish, I ought to reply to the friend who wrote to me, I must check the calendar to see when I’m doing something – and oh heck, the reading group is coming round on Thursday evening and not only do I have to tidy up and get ready to entertain, but I have to read the book!
Lois Elsden 