spring cleaning

A Study in Tidiness

Posted on January 13, 2013July 18, 2016 by Debbie Young

Entrance to my study — Before: enter at your peril – and yes, that IS a spinning wheel in the corner

I don’t know what it is about this time of year, but in the last week or so I’ve been hurtling about the house in a frenzy, clearing out cupboards, rationalising bookshelves, streamlining wardrobes. My home is looking as much like a showhouse as a Victorian cottage is ever likely to be.

On Wednesday, I spent about three hours sorting out my nine-year-old daughter’s bookshelves, alphabetizing the novels by author and sorting the non-fiction into classifications, as if her bedroom was a library. (You can call me Dewey.)

Today, I’ve spent best part of the afternoon clearing up my study – no mean feat by anybody’s standards, as you can see by the “before” photos here.

Though hard work at the time, it’s definitely worth the effort. I’ve long been a believer in the basic principles of Feng Shui (well, the lazy person’s version, that is – I don’t go in for all that purist business of deflecting poison arrows and hanging octagonal mirrors). It’s common sense that if you surround yourself with order rather than chaos, you will feel calmer and more in control of your life.

I’ve also always been fond of rearranging furniture and am constantly in pursuit of the perfect layout. A little bit too fond: I recently googled it to see whether it is a clinically labelled condition. (I didn’t find one – yet.)

Messy corner of my study — Rookie mistake here: that’s a chair, not a bookshelf

I wonder whether my current urge for order stems partly from the new neighbours who are renovating the formerly derelict house adjacent to mine. They have transformed the place. Its shiny glowing newness puts my house to shabby shame. My previous next door neighbour was a recluse with a profound antipathy to DIY. He had a broken window at the back of the house that another elderly neighbour swore had not been repaired since the Second World War. He elevated procrastination to an art form. And he set a very low bar for any aspirations we might have had to keep up with the Joneses.

Bookshelf — That’s more like it: books on shelves- oh, and in a laundry basket. Oops.

But the new neighbour’s renovations had been going on for some months before my latest round of compulsive tidying took hold. So maybe it was more a natural reaction to Christmas and a coping mechanism for absorbing the influx of Christmas presents into an already overflowing household.

There again, the imminence of my birthday (5 days to go and counting) may be a trigger. Do I need to prove to myself that I must make a difference to my environment before I get another year older?

But there’s another annual occurrence that I suspect is the trump card: the arrival of a certain green printed letter on my doormat. No, it’s not an early birthday card from the Wizard of Oz, nor a John Lewis credit card statement. It’s a reminder from the HMRC that self-assessment tax returns are due by the end of this month. And I really hate filling in my tax return.

This is no tidying bug – it’s tax evasion, Jim, but not as we know it.

Tidy study — Now all I need to get in order is my tax return.

Uncategorized

Tidying up, Gary’s way

Posted on March 31, 2012March 9, 2013 by Debbie Young

Let the spring-cleaning commence! Well, more importantly, the tidying up. Because until that is done, we won’t be able to see the surfaces that need cleaning.

As always at the start of the school holidays, my first thought is to tidy the house. This is so that we can enjoy the rest of the holidays in an orderly environment.

Also, whenever I’m planning to go away for more than a few days, I like to blitz the house so that it looks extra appealing when we return. It’s amazing how a few days away can give you a fresh perspective on your home. Stepping through the door, suitcase in hand, I’m always pleasantly surprised to be reminded how much I love my house. Absence certainly does make the heart grow fonder – especially if the scene that welcomes my return is tidy.

This time, my task is a tall order. Every room in the house is topsy-turvy and a major effort is needed to restore an air of calm. Where on earth should I begin?

And then I remember a tactic of my old friend Gary’s. Gary was part of my social circle decades ago, when home was my first rented flat. Gary was a bit of a gem. He was cheery and intelligent, without being an intellectual. When my then boyfriend, studying for a history degree, dropped into a pub conversation that he had to choose a topic for his thesis, Gary suggested brightly “How about the history of dogs?”

Gary was determined and methodical. Unable to speak a word of French, he passed his French O Level purely by skilful planning. He knew that a large percentage of the marks were allotted for the essay question which was likely to be on a limited range of topics. He reckoned that if he learnt by heart an essay on a day at the beach, “Sur La Plage”, he’d be in with a chance of passing. So he did – and he passed. On holiday in France a couple of years later, he was still unable to do so much as order a drink in a cafe. But put him sur la plage and he was happy.

Gary took a similarly determined attitude to his future. Leaving school at 16, he needed to choose a career. The biggest shop on the local high street was Woolworths, so he applied to become a trainee Woolworths manager. He did well at his job, ultimately managing the branch in the Strand in London, planning carefully at every step. One of his tasks was to deposit the store’s daily takings at the nearby bank. Rather than worry about security, he simply put the cash in a Woolworths carrier bag every day, confident that no mugger would ever think it worth stealing something that came from Woolworths.

He brought a new order to every aspect of his job. One Christmas, he discovered that his staff were comparing the cards he had given each of them to try to decide who he liked best. He then put a list on the staffroom noticeboard allocating points to each Christmas card image. This allowed staff to calculate scientifically how much he liked them. If their card showed a Santa – 5 points, Christmas tree – 4 points, snow scene – 3 points, and so on. I am not entirely convinced he was joking.

Gary’s personal habits were also meticulously organised. He enjoyed his food but in a very orderly way. Confronted by a plate of food, he would start carefully at one side, taking little forkfuls across the plate, gradually clearing it in a straight line from one side to another. It was like watching a military campaign, the invading force gradually capture enemy territory, pushing the line ever further back. Gary’s only concession to the taste of his food was to choose as his starting point the side opposite his favourite item of food. With a roast dinner, that would be the meat. His progress was fascinating. It was like watching Pac-Man have lunch.

I’ve always taken Gary’s approach to gardening. I’m a fair-weather gardener and I don’t bother much between November and March. Then when the first Spring-like day comes along, I venture into the small lean-to that we grandly call our conservatory and revive all the plants out there. Next, I step outside the lean-to, which opens on to my herb garden. I thoroughly weed the herb garden before advancing to the pond immediately beyond it. Once the pond is in order, I progress a couple of steps to the first vegetable bed – and so on, until everything in the garden is to my liking. It’s a long, slow job, but the benefit is that you always see the best first and the untidiest bit is always furthest from view. It’s the opposite of painting yourself into a corner.

And this holiday it occurs to me that Gary’s strategy would work equally well with tidying. I start off upstairs, standing on the landing and sweeping my mind’s eye around the first floor, like the radar detector you see on old films of U-boats. First stop is my daughter’s bedroom (a complete muddle since she’s spent the last week “camping” on the floor for a change of scene), then my bedroom, then the bathroom, then my study. Downstairs, the living room will be followed by the kitchen, then the larder, then (saving the worst till last), my husband’s study.

Suddenly, an insurmountable task is made manageable. With the help of my trusty iPod, full of BBC Radio 4 podcats, I feel further empowered. I can do this thing!

Let the holiday commence! Happy Easter, everyone!

If you enjoyed this post, you might also like to read How To Get Things Done.

Personal life, Travel

Let the Sunshine In

Posted on April 13, 2010July 18, 2016 by Debbie Young

What a difference a week of sunshine makes! On returning home yesterday after our walking holiday in Wales, the first thing I notice is that my front garden seems to have exploded.

In a good way, I mean. Having suddenly appeared from nowhere is a deep pink curtain of flowering currant blossom, theatrically suspended above the front wall from a bush that seemed so much smaller when its branches were bare. Behind the wall, what had before my departure been bare soil is now festooned with a tangle of deliciously bright lime-green leaves. This blanket of ground cover is dotted with the violet starbursts of periwinkle flowers.

In the back garden what first catches my eye is a triffid-like mass of rhubarb that I swear wasn’t there last week. A mini forest of thick deep stems, marbled green and pink, underpin a volcanic eruption of sturdy curling leaves which look far more healthy and vibrant than should be allowed for something so notoriously poisonous. Closer to hand, the grassy bank immediately behind the house is peppered with yellow and russet primroses, little joyous bursts of colour, random as sparks from fireworks. Nearby, ancient plum, chestnut and apple trees that looked quite dead just a week ago now bear thick buds, their fruit apparently under starters’ orders.

Forget the holiday laundry, I think to myself, abandoning on the utility room floor the armfuls of clothes that I’ve just brought in from the camper van. We’d better get straight out into that garden and take charge, before it gets the wrong idea of who’s in control here. There’s clearly not a moment to lose.

I stride back through the house to call my husband who is busy detaching the bikes from the back of the van. The sun is sending beams as strong as spotlights through the flowering currant and into the living room, and I suddenly realise that it’s not only the plants that have multiplied at logarithmic rate while we’ve been away. I run my finger along the top of the piano. Yes, the same has happened to the dust.

Oh well, at least I had a rest on holiday.

Personal life

Posted on March 1, 2010July 18, 2016 by Debbie Young

As the early spring sunshine streams in through my daughter’s bedroom window, I scoop up a half-dressed Barbie from the floor. Tidying her bedroom is going to be a lengthy job. To imagine the state of her room at this stage, picture what would happen if you took a giant food blender, filled it with hundreds of toys, then started the motor without putting the lid on. You get the idea.

I’ve tried blaming her father.

“I think Laura has inherited your tidiness gene,” I tell him.

“I don’t think I’ve got one,” he says.

“Exactly my point.”

My mother thinks it’s my fault:

“When you were her age, I had to bribe your big sister to tidy your room.”

At least I didn’t have such a huge quantity of toys to put away. I could count the number of dolls I possessed on one hand, whereas Laura would need a football team to ensure sufficient fingers. I had just three shelves of books and knew every page practically by heart; many of Laura’s dozens of books have barely been opened. My pencil case was a lone creature, but my daughter’s apparently flock. To me, a good collection of colouring pencils meant a set of 10, whereas hers run to about a hundred. As to felt tip pens, I think they breed after dark. My heart leaps each time one runs out, because it means I can throw one in the bin with a clear conscience, but still they multiply.

I remember the invention of felt tips when I was small and the excitement of buying my first pack which held just four. They were expensive, costing two shillings, and I paid with the pre-decimal pennies that my grandfather used to save for me in a jar – a special treat to help fill the void between Christmas and birthdays.

So where do all Laura’s toys come from? Free activity packs at family restaurants certainly account for the stationery glut. Another new source is the charity shop. There were none my local high street when I was a child, but now they spring up all over the place. Don’t get me wrong, I applaud them – they do a fabulous job, fundraising and recycling at one fell swoop. Shopping in them is a very easy way to support a worthwhile charity, so I tend to give Laura free rein. Progressing now on hands and knees through the carpet of toys in her bedroom, I realise that this is my undoing.

In my day, old toys weren’t taken to the charity shop but went into the dustbin (we didn’t worry about landfill in the 60s) or were collected for scrap by the rag-and-bone-man. This was the fate of my beloved push-along Baa-Lamb when I was about 4, and I’ve never forgiven my mother.

These days, old toys never die – they just relocate to Laura’s bedroom.

Happy Spring Cleaning!

(This blog entry originally appeared in the Tetbury Advertiser, March 2010)