Yesterday, the inactivity of the past week became an issue and I finally cracked, tidying everything in the house.

With the cottage being from the 1930s, built-in storage is non-existent so things have to be put away within furniture – something I never considered when stealing the drawerless divan from my parents’ house. As an indirect result*, I have to be somewhat spartan with my book purchases and will need to learn to apply the same restraint with wool and fabric.

Clothes – as the least important thing I own – were the first to go in yesterday’s kull and I decided to be more ruthless than I have ever been before, throwing out things that I can’t fit into at the moment. I tell myself it’s for the best in the long run – meaning I won’t torture myself trying to fit into tiny skirts. By shifting the handful of slim, attractive garments, I managed to squeeze the Christmas decorations into the wardrobe, the Calvin and Hobbes books into the once-man-nook and the pram from the spare room into the floor-space the books once occupied thus making my nightly trips to the bathroom infinitely less hazardous.

Aaaand I just realised that no one wants to read about the way in which I’ve rearranged my house to squeeze one more item into it. I’m just so excited that everything is tidy for once, and that I can go out and socialise with people I haven’t seen for a year without feeling guilty about how many things haven’t been done at home. I even managed to get out in the garden today and weed the front flowerbeds. I’m now in that wonderfully exciting situation where I can choose which lovely plants to pop in so that the house looks colourful throughout the year.

As always though, nothing is that simple. I am torn between the practicality of growing more of my own food and the prospect of living in a chocolate box cottage with lovely blooms around the door. I need to find a plant that is both gorgeous and edible and not lavender, rosemary or sage. Time for wikipedia I think…

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*I can’t keep clothes in the divan, so I have to keep them in the dressing table, so I have to keep random bits on the shelves, so I have to have fewer books etc… The fact I have a dressing table rather than a chest of drawers doesn’t help, not does the fact that I have a bedside coffee table rather than one of those clever little cupboard units. In fact, there are so many missed opportunities for storage in this house that if I rectified all of them I reckon I could live in something close to a minimalist cube. Well… a minimalist cube with 7 million more cables than are necessary, eh husband? 😛

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