Memory lane in the loft

 My son J and memory lane were made for each other. Home for the night, he decided to explore the loft (he's told me not to go up there  as there's no ladder). Here he is (or here are his feet). He's reading an old uni newspaper. That's about all I saw of him yesterday (his feet; not the newspaper). He went through his stuff, but sadly left most of it behind. He has a lovely new house, and clutter wouldn't look good. He also has a wife, who probably doesn't want it any more than we do.

That's all.

The art of collecting clutter

The market for books on uncluttering your home is already flooded. I had one once, and a close friend has just sent me another. There's an article about a Japanese de-clutterer in today's Times (it's apparently the in thing in Japan). But I'm beginning to wonder whether it's really such a bad thing, hoarding clutter. I have a love-hate relationship with mine, and lack the determination to reduce it, because it's easier to love (keep) clutter than to hate (get rid of it).

A random (ie the nearest) drawer yields - among other things - the following:
An old mobile ( no drawer should be without one of these),
String (ditto).
A rather grubby half used candle.
A packet of ibuprofen; probably out of date and only two tablets left.
A very ancient first aid kit in a tin, inherited I think from my in-laws, and practically empty.
(And these are the tip of the iceberg.)

I looked at these things, and then put them back. Why? Because I have a certain fondness for their familiar randomness, and because I can't be bothered to sort them out and put them all in the Right Place (largely, the bin).

How do you feel about clutter? (I'd particularly like to hear from people who are attached to theirs, as that will make me feel better.)

Pooh, Piglet, Kanga and Tigger have had a bath...

...and are sitting in the kitchen, drying out.

As any parent will know, when the kids leave home, the also leave Stuff. Old clothes, videos, university notes, papers, tin trophies they won as school footballers...it all gets left behind in The Nest, while they set up nice, new, clutter-free homes of their own. Well, I have had enough. In my convalescent state, I am restless, and want to sort things out and chuck things away. So. Out with the Stuff.

Barney (if you see this) I have washed Pooh and friends, and they await collection. As does that clutter in the cupboard and an entire bookshelf of nasty violent teen films and tattered paperbacks.

Joe, another cupboard is full of your old DJ stuff, and a lot of old football shirts, and much else besides. When I open that cupboard, an avalanche of stuff tumbles from a great height and threatens to bury me alive. We are short of storage space, and I need your cupboard.

To the other two: you left home so long ago that your stuff has finally evaporated, so this doesn't apply to you.

Meanwhile, Pooh et al are nearly dry (Roo nearly went the way of all socks and got lost in the wash, but mercifully reappeared). And, as I said, are waiting for you, Barney.

So am I.