I may have discovered a motivational aid to get me decluttering. Sorting through some magazines yesterday, I was cutting out an article here, a recipe there, then a tutorial (how to clean your pc), making a nice little pile of paper ready to punch and file away when it occurred to me that if I really wanted a recipe for tomato risotto I could find one in 2 or 3 clicks and an internet connection. And that article on web standards? There’s better and more up to date stuff on the net. In fact, I rarely read what I squirrel away. So I took a big gulp and put them all in the bin, along with the remaining magazines. Yikes.
What really pushed me though was a mental image of chez Daisy 6 months in the future (or 12 months, or 18 months, whenever we actually get round to selling the house and moving) and being surrounded (again) by boxes and boxes and boxes of junk. Stacked paper is so heavy and –this only occured to me late last night– a fire risk. Given that I’m paranoid about fire anyway, it struck me as ridiculous that I’ve lived so long with piles of magazines in most cupboards and corners.
I am a changed woman.
Anyway, I watched tv as I sorted and stapled. Along came What Not To Wear (this epsiode) and the victim had been despatched to Rigby & Peller* to buy new underwear. She was mortified to discover that she needed a 34H, wondering aloud to camera if H stood for hideous or horrible. My beloved one came into the room at that point and without missing a beat chimed in “or Hooray”. Bless.
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* Lingerie makers to royalty. I won’t link to them because:
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Has anyone told them it’s 2005 now and they’re alienating 20-30% of potential customers?
) to speak with a perfect accent. Trouble is, I’d leave every lesson speaking with a 
