Organise to minimise pain

My dear dad passed away last Monday. It wasn't unexpected; it wasn't even un-wished-for, in the saddest sense. He had started to show signs of dementia in around 2011, went into a care home in 2013, and in effect we had said goodbye to my father many years ago. For four years he had been increasingly vegetative, immobile and (mercifully) asleep.

He was a systematic, pragmatic, organised soul; no prizes for guessing where I got it from. As I have for some years handled all financial affairs under a Legal Power of Attorney for both of my parents, I have all their paperwork, some of which is in an old metal hanging-file box that lives under my desk. Dad loved figures and paperwork, and would spend happy hours reconciling his bank statements (he viewed it in the same way as Sudoku and crossword puzzles); he liked to know where things were and where he stood.

When, two days ago, I needed to go to the registrar, the check list suggested I take various documents. They were all in the metal box. NHS card: check. Birth certificate: check. Marriage certificate: check. The lovely registrar thanked me for making his job so easy.

As I caught my breath, waiting in the car to meet my husband after the registrar's visit and before clearing my father's room at the home, I took this photograph of the three civil registration certificates that spanned my father's life.

When I later messaged the photo across to my sister (who lives in Spain) she replied "I'd be impressed if they were the originals." I replied "They are."

My point about this post is that I have enough to deal with at the moment: my own emotions (grief + relief), caring for my bereaved mother, arranging the funeral, notifying friends and relations and authorities. For this task to be made so much easier due to my father's careful, clutter-free systems, and my own instinct for organisation, is a blessed relief.

This applies to everything we do. When life throws us a curve-ball - and we know how often that happens - you need all the resources you can get. If the basic processes of your life are running smoothly, you can focus your attention on dealing with a crisis.

Don't wait. Let me help you to sort those papers, clear that clutter, achieve that calm; so that whenever your own particular curve-ball hits, you'll have just a bit more fuel in the tank to come through.

Hidden treasure

A recent session with a client involved sorting through several large boxes and bags of paperwork - scooped up from car or house and dumped 'to sort later' over a period of some months (possibly years). One box yielded all the good things shown in this photograph: £25, €50, £22 in valid Tesco vouchers, and several usable first and second class stamps.

Not to mention two in-date gift vouchers for meals in favourite Norfolk restaurants, a probably-valid £20 gift card for Amazon, two more store gift cards and three Oyster cards which may have credit on them (all still to be checked) - and finally, a brand-new-in-packet 8GB SD card for her camera.

What treasures might you have buried under the useless receipts and old bank statements?? Get in touch today if you would welcome some help getting started...

What's it worth to you?

I'm a great user of charity shops - both to buy and to donate. Some of my best clothing bargains have come from an assortment of splendid places around my beloved Norwich; my paperback habit is easily indulged at minimum prices.

Of course, my clients' discarded-but-still-useful items (not to mention my own) also find their way there. Not only does the charity benefit - whether it be Oxfam, the British Heart Foundation, the Cats' Protection League or any of hundreds of others - but so too do buyers like myself, happy to source a book for £2 instead of £9, a skirt for £3 instead of £30. And best of all, when the time comes to dispose of those items - decluttering the bookshelves or the wardrobe, either so the present items are less crowded or (perish the thought) to make room for more - the cycle of generosity continues.

However, I thought I'd try a different approach today. I'd been sent an online voucher by a friend to try out a 'book resale' site. You scan the barcodes, they make an offer for your item (books, DVDs, video games, CDs), they pay the postage, you parcel the items up and print the despatch label, and hey presto - money in your bank account. There are several such organisations springing up around the place, complete with their smartphone apps.

I had a major declutter of the 'novels' bookshelves. (I do this every so often: I'd say that at least 50% of my paperbacks are treated as magazines, read once, enjoyed but not retained.) I gathered around 40 items - mostly paperbacks, a few DVDs - and started scanning.

My resale site, to start with, rejected most of them. ("We have plenty of this title already and can't buy it today" being the gist of the message.) That was fair enough - most of them were pretty commonplace authors (an awful lot of Philippa Gregory historical stuff, to start with). However, I became a bit disheartened when, finally, the first book came up as accepted, the offer was 10p. TEN PENCE? Now, I might have paid £3-£4 in a supermarket for it, or £1-£2 in a charity shop; but at this rate, to reach my minimum of £5 worth of books, I would be getting rid of an awful lot.

In the end, I found 8 items they'd accept, with a total of a little over £5. (The highest value item was less than £3.) My online voucher means I'll be credited with just over £10. That's all very well; but then I looked again.

Most of those charity-shop items had cost, as I mentioned, around £1-£2. If Oxfam, or Dr Barnado's, could sell my Philippa Gregory novel for £1.50, that's a big markup on the 10p that I'm being offered. At my calculation, the pile of rejects - some 30 paperbacks - might, if they'd bought them, made me around a fiver if I was lucky. But at an average of (say) £1.50 per book, my charity shop could turn those 30 paperbacks into some £45. And I'd sooner that a good cause received £45 than that I received the price of a supermarket lunch.

In the end, I decided to sell those eight items and take the money; but only on condition that the remaining 30 books go to the charity shop next week. And, to be honest, because I was being offered a 'free fiver' voucher for trying out the service in the first place.

I'm sure that such sites do work well for some folks - especially if their book collections are a little more commercial than my own. However, when it comes to donating for best effect, it's seldom hard to find a charity shop nearby (and if you're a tax payer, you can gift aid your donation too).

As for me... I'll be dropping off those 30 paperbacks when I'm in Norwich next week - and will possibly find two or three new items of reading matter while I'm there. Double win.

The clothes that won't let go

A conversation on Facebook recently echoed more than one similar discussion with clients. “I struggle to get rid of clothes… how do I decide?” In fact, I probably hear this question more than almost any other. ("How do I stop drowning in paperwork" is probably the one that comes closest.)

I might add that I’m very well qualified to talk about this. Not only am I pretty good at decluttering clothes, but I’m also very experienced at acquiring them. I can never resist a charity shop. I’ve been all sizes from a (fairly) small 12 to a (very) large 16 in my adult life. I’ve bought for purpose, for comfort, for distraction, for reward, and out of sheer blind panic. I’ve moved house and been subject to excruciating embarrassment at the number of items being hauled around by the long-suffering removal men. So I’ve been there and bought many t-shirts – in lots of different sizes.

There are countless reasons / excuses / validations for this challenge (and I'll likely write about more of them soon), but here's one of the most common. Does it ring bells for you, too?

I want to be able to wear it again. I’ve put on weight over the last six months / year / five years / ten years; I want to lose the weight, then I’ll be able to wear it again, so I must keep it.

I've lost count of the number of times I've heard this argument, but one particular episode sticks in my mind. The lady in question had been through a pretty terrible time with illness, divorce, breakdown – the whole nine yards. More to the point, she’d told me many times that she had no wish to take any part in the life that had been left behind with the ex-husband. So we looked at these clothes, which were very definitely part of that ‘old life’. I asked her to imagine herself at the size she was when she wore them, and then whether she’d wear those clothes again on reaching that size. There was a pause as she visualised it, and then she burst out “Of course I wouldn’t wear them again. I don’t even like the colours. Or the fabrics. Or the occasions they were for…” She’d become so fixated on the fact that she wanted to be a size 12 again (or whatever it was) that she’d equated the size of the clothes with their suitability. Suddenly she realised that their style would be completely redundant in her new life, and as such they were no use to her – no matter what her size. Needless to say, the next time I saw her, the gaps in her wardrobe had been filled with comfortable linens, cottons and softness, in colours that she loved – and which were nothing like the items she’d given away.

I’ve done the same thing. In an earlier life (which for me finished in around 2004, which was the last time I worked in a formal office environment), I loved my sharp suits. It’s a style that looks good on me – being curvy, a tailored look is flattering – and I did have some really lovely outfits that were perfect for a senior office management / PA type role. But was I ever going to wear them again?

These days, my decluttering ‘uniform’ has to be practical: usually jeans and a t-shirt or sweater. If I go to help a client with their computer, it’s a bit smarter, but still nowhere near formal. If I attend a business networking event, it’s definitely ‘smart casual’, not ‘intimidating power dressing’. My leisure life involves the local theatre, music-making, long walks, photography, relaxed meetings with friends. Sharp suits? No. So out they went. I now possess one black jacket and trousers (in case of funerals) and one rather fine red Jacques Vert skirt suit (charity shop bargain)… just in case. (It's beautiful and a wonderful colour, but think I’ve worn it once. There’s every possibility of it being decluttered in the next major cull.)

And what about size? As I say, I know all about this, too. On my last really drastic declutter, when I was about half a stone off my target weight (and with the help of a wonderful style consultant), I retained just a few items (about 8, I think) that were very nearly the right size but not quite; realistically attainable; and (most importantly) still matched my lifestyle. (I called it my ‘keep and hope’ pile.) To my delight, I did manage to fit into them all within a few months; but guess what? Even some of those went to charity or ebay in the end, as when I reached the size that matched the clothes, I realised that my style / shape / attitude had shifted still further – and they weren’t quite “me” any more. (I don't know about you, but my definition of "me" changes with the passage of time.)

Also consider: exactly how long have these clothes been in your wardrobe waiting for that magical weight loss? If it's a few weeks or months, that's fair enough. But it's very common for people to tell me that a dress or a pair of jeans was last worn, say, twenty or thirty years ago. Not only do fashions change (would you wear your 1980s shoulder-pads - or lycra - today?) but would you truthfully want to be the weight you were when you were (say) eighteen? Healthy, toned slimness is wonderful to see at any age; a desperate striving for "my younger weight" may well not be desirable. I know that my ideal weight at 54 is most definitely at least ten pounds or a stone heavier than it was when I was 24; any less and I start to look decidedly gaunt.

It’s also worth saying that while I have occasionally experienced an episode of “that’s a shame – that skirt would have looked nice on me now”, it’s no more than a mild regret. It's not a traumatic moment worthy of Sarah Bernhardt. In today’s world, we are drowning in choice of shapes, colours and fabrics, and finding an appropriate substitute for the occasion is seldom the cause of deep pain - more a cursory shrug and an “oh, well”. The decision lies between the pleasure of an uncluttered, functional, flattering, enjoyable wardrobe, and the moderate discomfort of realising that an item (out of, let's be honest, dozens of the things) might just have "come in useful" after all. You make the choice.

Your wardrobe needs to reflect your everyday style. We all have a few seldom-worn items: serious posh frocks, funeral formality, fancy dress party and so on. Fine.  But the other 90%? They need to suit the size you are now, or at least very close to it (come on, be honest); but (more importantly) the life you are living today.

Don’t buy for the life you want until you’re living it. Think tomorrow morning, or next week, or the ‘do’ you’re attending next month, or (at the most) next season. Beyond that, who knows what may have changed in your life?

(A brief aside on the above question: I’m presently reading How to be Free, a splendidly entertaining, anarchic and provocative book by the redoubtable Tom Hodgkinson, from which I could pinch soundbites by the dozen. I especially like “We all know the Jewish joke: How do you make God laugh? Tell him your plans.”)

What are your greatest challenges when you consider getting rid of clothes? Post a comment, ask a question, and I’ll help. Or if you’re ready to bring your wardrobe (or any other part of your life) under control, and create it for today, rather than for the past or the future, get in touch - and we’ll get cracking!

What to do, who should do it

One of the greatest challenges faced by a large number of my clients is paperwork. We know the theories: action, file, junk. Separate and action. But how many of us actually want to do this, and does the thought of the work involved make your blood run cold?

It's like any other vital life activity. If it has to be done, you have three choices: (a) do it yourself or learn how to do so, (b) pay somebody else to do it or (c) muddle along without anybody doing it at all. The same applies to paperwork as to ironing, cleaning, gardening and other areas of maintaining a comfortable life.

If you choose option (c), the consequences can range from the inconvenient to the illegal. Ignoring the letters from HMRC will result in stress, fear, panic and possibly financial loss if you're fined for failing to submit your return; and failing to tax and insure your car is definitely a bad idea.. Ignoring the needs of your garden isn't against the law, but might make you unpopular with the neighbours, and it's not easy living cheek-by-jowl with a jungle. Ignoring the laundry could cost you a fortune in new clothes.

The point is, we are not all book-keepers, gardeners, cleaners or whatever - but we expect ourselves to be. Some of those skills will cause you no difficulty at all; others might send you screaming for the hills. The trick is to identify how vital (or not) those unwanted responsibilities are, which of them fall naturally and without pain into your own scope of interest and skill, and whether the peace of mind and time bought by outsourcing them is worth it.

I worked with a client some years ago whose hatred of paperwork borders on the pathological. Her in-tray was a dumping ground for tomorrow, and tomorrow never came. She's brilliant at her vocational job, a wonderful mother, a delightful friend and a superlative hostess; but she was constantly distressed by her hatred of and inefficiency with dealing with paper - whether it was for business or household. We did some major decluttering of her desk, and she was delighted when it was all brought under control (and she ended up with a very small pile of 'action' items on the desk); but when I next visited, that 'action' pile had grown, and nothing had been actioned.

So she got help. Not from me - I'm a troubleshooter rather than a long-term PA - but from a lovely local girl who loves paperwork. She took huge pride in taking my client in hand, taking on all the hated admin jobs, and relieving her of the burden of stress, allowing her to get on with the business and the mothering and the entertaining that she was best at.

Now, you may say "that's all very well, she had a business, she could afford it" - which is true. However, that doesn't change the fact that we all have to face up to options (a), (b) and (c) at some point. Moreover, you don't need a full-time secretary to keep basic household paperwork under control; an hour or two each fortnight might suffice. If (like me) you have no interest, ability or motivation for gardening, a few hours each month costs (on average over a year) around the same as a night out at the cinema plus dinner and drinks. For peace of mind, I'd sooner have the gardener than the night out.

And then there's option (a). Learning to do it yourself may well not be such a huge issue after all. I've set up systems for clients using (for example) spreadsheets which they have then continued very ably to populate without help from me or anybody else. An outside pair of eyes on a new process, a little computer training, some shortcuts and ideas, and who knows? - you might even enjoy it. There's nothing worse than struggling with a computer programme because you don't know how to use it to its fullest advantage. You wouldn't expect to drive a car without lessons, would you? Why do we expect to use computers without help?

Take a bit of time to review those jobs that are causing you grief.

• Does it have to be done? Will the world end, or at least will your health or finances suffer, if you simply don't do it? If the answer is no, then save yourself the aggravation and remove it from your life. You have a finite number of years and days and minutes on this earth; use them wisely.
• If it has to be done, due to financial or health consequences if you don't, can you learn to do it yourself? Don't muddle along and get discouraged; ask an expert (even if it's simply in a book). Ask for recommendations among friends, on social media or elsewhere. "I need to learn to do x. Can anyone recommend a book / a trainer / a consultant who could help me?" One of the biggest benefits of social media, for all its irritations, is the potential for sharing and support. Use it.
• And if you decide that it must happen but that you really can't, under any circumstances, bear doing it yourself, find out what the real costs are - and what you're able / willing to pay. If the cost of a couple of bottles of wine will buy you an hour of a cleaner's time, how would that feel? If you sacrificed that evening out I mentioned in exchange for a few hours' gardening, which would you prefer? And in the time you might reclaim by outsourcing, you may be able to invest some of it in people or activities that are more precious to you.

Life's too short to spend being stressed - or distressed - by things you don't do because you really hate doing them, or things that you think you can't do because nobody's ever shown you the easy way. 

• Get clear in your head the difference between can't, won't and don't know how
• Be honest about whether the activity is vital, important or optional
• Once you've worked out those two elements, you can make decisions about whether you do it, outsource it or leave it

And don't forget to ask for help! If you're ready to take action on streamlining your life, your surroundings and your workload, contact me today for support, motivation and practical help.

What are you waiting for?

So happy to help

It's a real delight when a client sends feedback like this. And it's a pleasure and a privilege when what is needed and what I can offer coincide so well.

"Thanks for your email and the attachments. You were worth every single penny.

It was a real honour and quite amazing to have you going through my Stuff with me yesterday, and I noticed I got quicker at deciding what to hurl or keep as we went along. Thank you also for cooking lunch and talking to me about the Cooking and Nurturing Food Thing! I had clearly been trying to go about things the wrong way round, both with clutter/storage and my general approach to the diet and life I deserve - which was a great learning curve for me.

After you left, I went straight out and bought salad + stir-fry vegetables and had a bit of a cook-up for lunch today, eating mindfully. Soooo satisfying! It was all very very helpful - physically, mentally and emotionally - and yes, I slept an untroubled long sleep after a gorgeous warm shower. I'm very much calmer (and less agitated, considering high mood-swing) today. Top stuff, Cassie!

One of the added bonuses was that I was so pleased to wake up today, to a lovely bedroom again, with just little jobs here and there that I know I can manage in minutes or half-hours at a time; every day a little something. I did clear the bedside tables last night and was actually keen to get up and go this morning.

Thanks so much for helping me to be a lot less household-crazy ... and you can quote me on any of this!"

Peak Stuff

You might have picked up on this phrase recently. It's been a busy old Twitter hashtag (#peakstuff) and it originated with a discussion with a senior member of the IKEA team. This article summarises the situation pretty neatly (and saves me writing it again). It was written by the inspirational Jen from Wiltshire, who runs a blog called My Make Do and Mend Life.

As a professional organiser, one of the main services I'm called upon to provide is the assistance with decluttering. (The organising of what is kept is usually a separate issue. Some clients don't have, in fact, enormous amounts to dispose of, believe it or not; it's their arrangement and accessibility of 'needful stuff' that is challenging.)

However, it's also common to find myself supporting clients through the disposal of excess. There are the clothes that either no longer fit or that are simply never worn due to a change in lifestyle. There is paperwork (one of the greatest problems for many of us), most of which is accessible online, and outdated information is usually more dangerous than no information at all. There are overstocks of food (BOGOF deals, anyone?) to the extent that it goes to waste as it goes out of date before it can possibly be eaten. And so on. And, of course, all this excess 'stuff' has to live somewhere, and most people don't have unlimited space or storage.

Jen's key point in her article is this:

"We are still being cajoled by the advertising companies that our lives will be better, and happier, and easier, if we had the latest shiny new thing. But maybe, just maybe, we’re all finally starting to cotton to the fact that this is actually just advertising bullsh*t designed to keep us spending, and that our lives are not any better, happier or easier, even after buying a whole heap of latest shiny new things. Maybe the message is sinking home that current levels of consumption are unsustainable, and our planet does not in fact have finite supplies of everything we need."

Exactly so. Less stuff means:

• more space
• more money to spend on experiences rather than things
• less dust
• less pressure to conform
• more clarity
• less confusion
• more efficiency

If you're wondering, there are areas in which I'm as much at fault as the next man, or woman. I'm still a bit of a clothes addict - there's nothing like succeeding in losing nearly three stone to seduce one into buying unnecessary items just because it's hard to believe that things look good. However, I have about 35% of the quantity of clothes that I had two years ago (largely because I had a wardrobe spanning three sizes). I hate to think of the amount of money that was wasted on that one. My husband's equivalent is the books: far more volumes than he could ever, conceivably, read in a lifetime.

***

So what do you do with the #peakstuff when you decide it's time for it to go? To start with, don't panic about landfill. Almost nothing that I, or my clients, dispose of goes there. Recycle, give to charity, Freegle (like ebay but without money), give away, car boot sale, Gumtree, Ebay... so many places. I've created a page of suggestions here that you might find helpful.

And if you need support - physical, motivational, or just ideas and suggestions - contact me, or one of my colleagues from APDO, and we'll be delighted to help.

Space for change

A few weeks ago, I was honoured and delighted to have been credited, in some small part, with assisting a client of mine to move on to a new phase of her life. Our decluttering work on her house, a couple of years ago, helped her to find the emotional freedom to be open to a new relationship and home. You can read about that here.

I've today read a wonderful tale with even more dramatic results. This isn't a client, but a professional colleague in an adjacent profession to my own. The lovely Sarah Morgan specialises in wardrobe decluttering and helping people to identify the right colours and styles for them. She gave me a magnificent amount of assistance a few months back, when (having achieved a two-stone weight loss, and with a house move imminent) I needed a professional eye cast over my own utterly random wardrobe.

Sarah's story today demonstrates the extraordinary power of mindset and the 'letting go' of that which no longer serves us. You can read her article here. Warning: beware the green-eyed monster... ;)

Not every decluttering session will bring such dramatic results (a move to the Caribbean being a pretty extreme example!). Yet the changes that can be brought about by release from the detritus of the past will all, in their own ways, have a profound impact on our lives.

The smallest changes can make such a positive difference.

More than just a tidy house

I was so touched to receive a wonderful message yesterday. I'd spent several sessions (across some months) with this lovely lady, a couple of years ago, decluttering her house in all corners, and she was delighted with the domestic control that it helped her to regain.

However, it's not just a tidy house, and the attendant sense of calm, that can result from decluttering; the ripples can reach much wider.

"I'm so thankful we did the de-clutter previously! It was part of the preparation, making space for the new. Many thanks for your part in the preparations. Little did you know how much I needed that de-cluttering to make emotional and spiritual space for a relationship."

This isn't the first time  that I've been privileged to have witnessed a client achieving emotional clarity as a result of physical decluttering. I am honoured to have been a part of it.

Keeping a balance : considering curating

I was introduced to a great new phrase to use in my organising work recently: Curating. This refers to capturing things, especially experiences, which can be shared and valuable for yourself and for others.

A few months ago I made contact with the lovely Joel Zaslovsky, who is based in Edina, MN, USA, and responsible for the fascinating Value of Simple website. The contact came about because he created a first-class post about the organising profession (you can read it here).

As a result of ongoing conversations, I found myself recording a podcast for him for use on his Smart and Simple Matters show (I'll shout about it when I know when it's due to be made available, probably later this summer). He interviewed me about my role as President of apdo-uk, about my background, about what brought me to professional organising, and much more.

A couple of days ago, Joel responded to my follow-up email after the recording, sharing with me a YouTube video of a talk he gave recently at Ignite Minneapolis ("a high-energy evening of 5-minute talks by people who have an idea - and the guts to get onstage and share it with their hometown crowd"). It gives some great thoughts and ideas about this topic, and it got me thinking.

'Curating' has an interesting place in the world of the professional organiser. It involves assessing the value of items and experiences, and having decided that they are worth keeping, choosing the most user-friendly and elegant ways of capturing them to share with others. Joel has some excellent suggestions for these tools, such as EverNote, Pinterest, or his "personal favourite" (mine too!) - the Excel spreadsheet. The challenge here is to make those choices to curate - or to abandon, forget and move on. In other words, whether to declutter and dispose, or to keep and to organise.

The truth is, of course, that as in all parts of life, the answer lies in finding a sensible balance between the two. While I have great respect for the work and philosophies for advocates of the minimalist life, such as the lovely Joshua and Ryan at The Minimalists, or the inspiring couple Betsy & Warren Talbot at Married With Luggage (who effectively sold everything they owned and invested the proceeds in travel and all the experiences that came their way), I recognise that this complete paring down of absolutely everything that is not completely necessary to your existence is not for everybody. I prefer to read the writings of such people to find inspiration, clarity, ideas and motivation; I don't have to stick rigorously to everything they say. And, more importantly, neither do my clients. My business is to make life workable, not necessarily perfect.

Joel observes, quite rightly, "Most of your experiences are empty, but some of them are powerful, even transformational; not just to you, but to everyone around you." These are the moments, the resources, that Joel believes you should learn to curate, to capture, to share, for the benefit of yourself and those you meet.

However, it struck me, when listening to Joel's talk, that "curating" could, in careless hands, come to represent the very opposite to minimalism, the enemy of true efficiency: a desperate drive to create records, to capture, to ensure absolutely nothing is lost.

I know from my own experience that this brings its own kind of clutter. I have met people whose organisational capability is quite stunning - they capture everything, from every morsel they eat to every item they buy - but their mechanisms for discrimination are sadly lacking. This kind of curating only exists, it seems, to give them an illusion of control over their lives and their belongings. Writing down a careful note of everything you eat does not necessarily mean that you don't overeat: it just means you can quantify it. [I speak from personal experience here, I assure you.] Noting every purchase doesn't stop you from buying things you don't actually need - just that you know exactly when and for how much you bought them.

I turned up a long-forgotten moment on television from my own mental filing cabinet (with help from that excellent aid to curating, YouTube). Ever Decreasing Circles was a gentle, beautifully observed sit-com, starring Penelope Wilton, Peter Egan and the late, lamented Richard Briers, which ran from 1984-1989. It's desperately understated, British and detailed; it is very funny, but often in a painful way. Martin - Briers' character - is "an obsessive middle-aged man who is at the centre of his local suburban community". He is a control freak of the first order. His life must be kept under complete, precise control, otherwise the whole thing will fall apart; the end of the world, in fact. The very first episode shows him (as he does frequently) disentangling the telephone cord, and asking his long-suffering wife "One thirty-five alright for lunch, love?".

The episode I particularly remembered - and finally tracked down - is the first one in the fourth series (1987). Take a couple of minutes to watch from 09:15 to 12:13 as next door neighbour Paul (Egan) takes Martin in hand to attempt to get him to relax his grip on unnecessary minutiae.



He starts with a pile of match results for the under-thirteens' football team, six years previously. The conversation goes like this.

"Do you actually need this piece of paper?" "Yes." "Why?" "To file." "Why?" "So that I know I've got it."

Any of my colleagues who has struggled to help a client to let go of inconsequential detritus will recognise this scenario. The point is that Martin's military-style precision in his record keeping has trapped him; but his organisational skills are superb. It's his skills in discrimination which are lacking.

As I thought this through, I recognised that my own style tends to the curating, too. My home is most certainly not minimalist; I am fortunate enough to live in a large property (which we don't own, I hasten to add; my husband is a minister in the Church of England, and it goes with the job). This gives me the luxury of being able to keep, and curate, items that in other circumstances would have to be disposed of. Specifically, we have one room dedicated to a library of theatre, music and literature. [That's the room in the photo at the top of this post.] These activities account for a huge amount of our leisure hours: we both love the theatre, as audience, performers and directors. We both have a fairly thorough knowledge of such matters, specialising in curiosities ranging from the Victorian & Edwardian operettas, through music hall and variety, to my personal enthusiasm for the works of Stephen Sondheim and Kander & Ebb. As such, in our wide circle of friends, it's no surprise that we are known to be 'experts' of a sort, and known to possess this library. Both our knowledge and the volumes are, of course, always available to anyone who wishes to make use of them. And, I would add, we are likely to find ourselves - at least annually, but more likely several times each year - involved in creating entertainments, workshops and fundraising events in our local community, for which these volumes will always be a valuable source.

A minimalist might look at our precious library, and say "But you hardly touch these volumes. They're clutter. You don't need them!". However, this resource is organised, acknowledged and available; the frequency with which any one item is required by us personally is neither here nor there.

An oft-discussed condundrum today is "the difference between a hoard and a collection". The difference is fairly simple. If, like us, you are fortunate enough to have sufficient space for the items; if you value them, display them, organise them and share them; if you can find them when they are required with minimal effort - it's a collection. If, on the other hand, the items are buried, invisible, inaccessible, forgotten, broken, mildewed or eaten by mice; if you cannot locate an item when it is required, by you or anyone else - then it's a hoard. Moreover, if that hoard takes up so much inappropriate physical space that it prevents you from living a comfortable, relaxed, hygienic life - it can't be classified as a collection in any true sense.

A final note. One of my favourite personal collections is a single folder containing assorted cards, notes and letters from my husband. I know where to find it when I want a sentiment-fest. I don't want to burrow through mountains of rubbish to find that card that he wrote to me within weeks of our relationship starting. I value it and I honour it, so I curate it.

We all have the capacity for curating. We take photographs, create videos, write diaries. If the things and the people and the memories that we curate are of value and interest, to ourselves and to others, for today and for the future, we can learn best practice to make them meaningful and useful. But in the same breath, we must be selective, choosy, discriminating. We must recognise the differences between the 'empty' and the 'transformational'; and when we can comfortably choose between decluttering and letting go or curating and organising, then we will be truly empowered.

A little time can make a big difference

Sometimes we get bogged down with the idea that we need to invest loads of time and/or loads of money to make a difference. It's just not true!

While some jobs may take a full day, or several days together or spread across a period of time, it's also very satisfying when a brief session of just an hour or two can make a big difference - with minimal cost and stress. For example:

There's one of my favourite IT clients: a wonderful octogenarian (do you think you're too old to use a computer?) who calls me from time to time with a neat list of queries that she's been building up. We sit down and focus on those specific needs, for around two hours, and then I might not see her again for months. She's left comfortable with the knowledge she's gained, and happy to continue on her own.

There was the lady who used just two hours of my time to make suggestions about better storage solutions in her flat. We didn't actually do any physical work; we simply planned, threw ideas around, checked some possible storage purchases online, and I left her with a shopping list and a plan of action. She called me a couple of weeks later, completely triumphant at the changes she'd been able to implement, but "I would never have managed it without your ideas".

There was the lady whose whole house was in need of sorting; but we spent just one day, seven hours long, on the most troubling room (the sitting room). We ended up with a full car each - hers for the charity shop, mine for the tip - and she looked around and said "It's like having had the plumbers in. Now I can carry on and do the rest myself. The books in my bedroom can now come in here, so the items in the attic that belong in the bedroom can then move in there..." She'd got it. She understood the processes we'd been through, and how to continue with them for herself; but she'd previously been overwhelmed by where-to-start syndrome.

Would it help you to invest in a little time for yourself?

• an hour of thinking and suggesting, of ideas and discussions on the use of furniture and storage in a problem space
• an hour learning how to make best use of your mobile phone, and making sure that you never lose contact details again
• two hours of working through a list of difficulties on your computer
• a couple of hours spent sorting your filing systems into an order that really works for you
• a few hours spent working on decluttering and/or organising one room that will get you kick-started to keep up the good work on the rest of the house

... go on, give it a go. You might be surprised just how many solutions we can find together in a short time!

What it's all about

I sometimes have great trouble explaining succinctly what I do, and what the benefits are. (As any of my friends will tell you, brevity of expression is not really my strong point.) So I was delighted to see that my favourite blogger, the lovely Tania Kindersley, has in her posting today expressed those benefits so much better than I could:

"...once I am actually doing it, I get a burst of energy, and realise that I have the capacity to make my room look really quite nice. The simple fact of moving things around can make a huge difference. Clearing away the clutter reveals the lovely items I have collected over the years, and I may notice them with love, instead of just seeing too much nonsense. The effect of hoovering itself always astonishes me. Just getting rid of a bit of earth and dog hair and the stray bits of grass I bring in on my boots utterly transforms the room. I feel there is a proper life lesson there, something about small, mundane things making a huge difference."

Exactly. So many people consider the processes of decluttering and organising (which are, by-the-by, two entirely different things) and fear the perfection (and unattainability) of minimalism. There is, of course, absolutely nothing wrong with minimalism if it's a style that happens to float your boat; but for most of us, the 'small, mundane things making a huge difference' are far more achievable and practical.

And as for Tania: well, the photographs of her beautiful residence, way up in the wilds of Scotland, show a home and not a house. A place to live and relax, to welcome guests, to share and to to enjoy. A place where you can put your feet up without feeling intimidated; a place where her small relations can jump around and have fun; a place where the adorable Pigeon (a canine who is adored by hundreds of people who have never met her) will not be told off for muddy paws.

The balance between tidiness and obsession, between comfortable and slovenly, between house and home: that is what it's all about.

(I have borrowed an illustration from the blog posting in question: I hope Tania doesn't mind. This isn't minimalism; but it is a place of beautiful comfort. And I covet that lamp.)

Colleagues in organising

I'm delighted by, and proud of, the wonderful video (created for us by the superb Media On Demand) of our member conference for apdo-uk a few weeks ago.

Hoarder or clutterbug?

I've been watching with a mixture of relief, fascination and horror the recent glut of tv programmes about chronic hoarding problems. In my work as a professional organiser, I can truthfully say that I very seldom come across anybody who is a 'hoarder' in that sense. Plenty of folks have stuff they need help sorting, or storing, or disposing of; some may need help seeing the wood for the trees; some may (as one client memorably put it) just be suffering from 'can't-be-bothered syndrome' (that wasn't her exact expression!).

However, for some people it's a far more serious problem, possibly endangering life and limb. Hoarding is coming to be accepted as a genuine psychological and medical problem, in the same way as (for example) alcoholism may become an unwanted behaviour with true roots and potential treatment. They can't (and shouldn't) be dismissed as 'laziness' or 'malingering'.

I have written at some length about my feelings on the matter, and in my capacity as President of apdo-uk - the Association of Professional Declutterers & Organisers. Our members feel very strongly about the issue, for several reasons.

• Appreciate what exactly constitutes a hoarder - and when the answers are much simpler and more easily dealt with 
• Recognise what help is available and where that help can come from
• From a professional organiser's perspective, to be able to offer appropriate support and assistance - and to know when other interventions are needed beyond those we can offer.

I feel strongly that - as with all unwanted behaviours - we all need to be honest with ourselves: to recognise the help we require, and to seek that help accordingly. Have a look at the article, and see what you think.

The organiser declutters herself

I know, I know: happy new year, make your resolutions. I have plenty of my own - and you may be surprised (or not, depending on how well you know me) to learn that they include some serious decluttering and organising of my own.

In this case, specifically, my wardrobe. As a result of fluctuating constantly across three dress sizes over most of my adult life, I've got three times as many clothes as I could possibly want. Things were crushed together; I was depressed by the presence of so much I couldn't wear; so I have spent a bit of the 'quiet time' between Christmas and New Year (with help from my darling husband) doing some serious weeding.

There is a pile to keep - clothes that I do not fit into at present - but we're not talking a need to lose three stone here, but a matter of a few pounds. There's the stuff for charity shop and for selling - in both cases, these have been a matter of finally accepting that even when I'm closer to the size I want to be, I will never again be the size that I was twenty years ago, and it's foolish to pretend otherwise (it wouldn't suit me, anyway!). And, given the panic that is induced by being dissatisfied with one's shape, there are a fair few items - mostly off bargain rails and charity shops - that come under the heading of "what the **** were you thinking when you bought this?"

The 'wear' pile has gone back in the wardrobes, with more room to hang neatly, and easier to see. The 'keep' pile - those clothes that I know I have a realistic chance of getting into again - are stored away ready for that day (which will come; I've done it before, I can do it again). The 'sell' pile is ready to take to a local 'good-as-new' shop - I haven't the time or energy to ebay them; and the charity shop will be restocked hugely in the new year.

You see, I am great at advising other people about this stuff, what it means, why we accumulate it, how they might be able to change these habits. Am I perfect myself? Far from it, as you can see. But then, you probably wouldn't want a paragon of perfection, never a hair (or a foot) out of place, helping you with your overload of 'stuff', would you? This is all about real life; it happens; and as long as we deal with it before it drowns us, and don't beat ourselves up for it, it's not the end of the world.

As it happens, I truly believe that this has been an educational process for me. One of my recent clients proudly showed me her wardrobe after she'd cleared out (without my help) a huge amount, and I was stunned by how much she'd managed to achieve. (We'd worked together in other areas of the house, other furniture usage and purchase, and from that process she'd 'got it' - and was able to progress further on her own. That's the way it should be.)

The point is, she was an inspiration for me. I looked at her newly cleared wardrobe - with the same delight as I'd surveyed her kitchen after we'd worked together to sort that out - and thought I want that for myself. I spend so much time concentrating on the help that I can give to others - practical, motivational, physical, inspirational - that I myself sometimes get left out of the equation. More than once I've come home having left a very happy client behind, and thought I really could use one of my own organising colleagues to help me...


Be that as it may: it's made a big difference to me. If you feel that you could benefit from a major clear-out - whether it be your wardrobe, desk, kitchen, garden shed, attic or whatever - but simply don't have the strength to do it alone: call me. Not only can I provide an extra pair of hands, ditto pair of eyes, motivation, ideas, suggestions - I've also been there myself. I know how it feels to let go of something to make room in your home, your heart or your head for something else. I know how it feels to look at the problem and feel you don't know where to start. That's why I can help you.

So - if your new year's resolution for 2012 is to 'get it sorted' - call me. And we'll get on that journey together.

Happy New Year!

Stuff and storage

One of my clients sent me a link she thought I might be interested in. Published on the BBC website, it expresses the concerns about the 'craze' for self-storage.

People are leaving their possessions in self-storage warehouses for longer than ever. But why are people paying to store stuff they rarely use? It's a monument to our acquisitive society - the brightly lit shed on the edge of town offering "storage solutions".

This rang lots of bells. I've written on this topic in this blog before, last April. Everything I said there still holds true: I still firmly believe that, used appropriately, storage options are a valid way of helping us to deal with 'stuff' - as long as it's with a realistic approach. When either the practical or the emotional considerations mean we need time and space - physical and mental - then this is a sensible option; when we simply don't have the room in our living quarters to accommodate items that we have valid reasons for keeping, renting storage space is no different from renting a garage to keep your car safe.

However, this article flags up very correctly the other side of the story - and the reason for it being an increasing pitfall in modern consumer society. My fellow apdo-uk member, Cory Cook, is quoted in the article:

"More and more stuff comes in and it's not going out. I want to say it's a throwout society, but it's not the case because people are keeping their things around."

Exactly so. We might be living in a recession, but that doesn't mean we are buying less 'stuff'. On the contrary: my observation of the 'stuff' that I help my clients to sort through is that we're more likely to buy more items of a lower value. It can give a lift out of the doldrums induced by dismal economic times, terrible summer weather and back-to-work blues: hey, look, I've got a new toy! And if that 'toy' - whether an electronic gadget, an item of clothing, a kitchen gizmo or a DVD - has been bought at a cheaper price than we might previously have afforded, it's often less likely to last than its slightly pricier alternative.

We all know the scenario in the wardrobe: given the choice, would you spend the same amount of money on one well-made, classy item, or on ten things from the sale rail? And before you ask, I'm as guilty of this sin as the next woman. The obvious result - after the adrenalin rush of I've got a new toy - is that, at a later date, the multiple items are not only more likely to be thrown away (how many of your favourite clothes came from the sale rail?) but there are more of them to be disposed of - when you eventually get round to it.

The matter of whether we store unneeded things or not is a worry; the roots of why this kind of storage is necessary at all is a far greater cause for concern. It's usually because we've bought it in the first place... and we are slaughtered with guilt about how much stuff we have. If we do manage to get rid of it, it feels like a waste. "I couldn't possibly throw that away - it cost me good money." Disposing of the item is like admitting that we got it wrong in the first place.

It's also true to say that there is a lot of association with our identities: we are, often, our stuff. In the same article, this valuable observation is made by Oliver James, author of the superbly-named Affluenza:

Our identity has increasingly become associated with products, and not just the mortgage and the car, but smaller items. "We've confused who we are with what we have," he says. It explains why we're so reluctant to throw things away. "We feel it might come in handy one day. It feels like it's a little part of yourself even though it's just tat. You wouldn't want to throw yourself away, would you?"

This isn't a new scenario. During a recent holiday in France, I visited an eighteenth-century château, complete with the authentic furnishings, décor and bric-a-brac of that era. The Victorians were just as bad: their homes were full of clutter and dust-traps. However, these indulgences were the province of the wealthy. Now, with the help of the high street and the pound-shop, we can all surround ourselves with 'stuff'. And we do.

So: how do we deal with it?

• We accept the purchasing mistakes we've made in the past, and put it down to experience
• We pass on the stuff we really no longer need (or, in some cases, even like) to benefit somebody else - and refrain from fretting about the money we paid out for it
• We use the learning when we next shop for something - and we shop mindfully, not emotionally
• We take a long hard look at the space we are paying for - whether it's in the context of the house we're renting or mortgaged for, or external space - and ask ourselves whether it's genuinely worth it

We might not get it right all the time. I certainly don't.

But it's well worth a try.

Help for the clergy

Being married to a parish priest, I have first-hand experience of the daily working lives of the clergy. It's not uncommon to find that the person who has been "trained and ordained" to be a pastoral support, a liturgical leader, a preacher and a carer of souls is also, by default, required to be an accountant, administrator, legal advisor and business manager. If none of those roles has ever featured in their professional lives before, the pressure can be enormous, and the help of an organiser and declutterer can be of great benefit.

I was thrilled to receive this testimonial from one such client that I worked with some months ago.

I have benefitted greatly from the advice and support you gave during your stay here. Further to the work we did together I have reordered my study by taking out some surplus shelves, moved the desks and created a sitting area which is calm and restful – perfect for seeing people for conversation, saying the Office or reading.

There have been periods when the paperwork has looked menacing, but now I am beginning to learn that if you allow a little time for the new system to do its work, the volume is broken down into manageable chunks. It also reveals when there is simply too much asking to be done – far better to acknowledge this and do what one can than harbour an unrealistic expectation that somehow it can be done.

All of this has happened since you came – change which is both physical and psychological, so thank you.

And better still, a more recent email confirms that things are still on track:

Life is good here – incredibly busy at the moment, but working on helping people share responsibility so it bodes well for the long term.

I was privileged to be given the opportunity to help in this way.

To declutter - or to store?

In the decluttering-and-organising industries, there are many related services that are helpful in our work. At the recent apdo-uk members' seminar in London, we heard from three such businesses: a home stager, an ebay sales company, and a storage-and-removal firm.

This last industry caused some head-shaking and discussion among our membership. The removal element, certainly: we're often asked to help people 'get it sorted' before they move home. But storage? Surely that flies in the face of all that we, in the decluttering world, are trying to help people achieve? If we encourage our clients to use storage facilities, aren't we just opting for the easy get-out to show a visible change without addressing the underlying problems?

So it would appear. And in many circumstances, that's undoubtedly true. It would be so easy to simply ship all extra belongings off-site, leaving a beautifully clear home - but the underlying clutter would remain, un-dealt-with. (It reminds me of a story I heard - and even if it is apocryphal, I'm certain it's founded in truth - of the business that had a 'clear desk policy', which resulted in every employee storing huge piles of untidy paperwork UNDER the desk.)

However... I wonder. I thought back to a period of my own life (nearly twenty years ago) when storage facilities were vital, and I worked my way through the reasons. They fell into two very specific categories: the practical and the emotional.

My first marriage was over. It was nobody's fault; it was simply a marriage that should not have happened in the first place. It was sad, it was painful, but it was inevitable, and in the end, all for the best. However, the practical issues that arose from the split were especially hard. We sold our home; my ex-husband rented a small flat, and took what furniture and belongings he wished to keep; and I moved back to my parents' home for a few months to get my life in order. (I was made redundant at the same time, just to add insult to injury.)

My parents lived in the small maisonette in which I'd grown up. They had no extra storage space for the furniture, white goods and general houseware that I'd accumulated during seven years of co-habiting and marriage. I knew that I would, in the not-too-distant future, be returning to a place of my own - that I'd buy or rent a flat. I had no need of the table & chairs, the cooker, the china, the microwave and the rest while I lived in my childhood home - but I knew I'd need them some day, when I once more had a home of my own. So it was a no-brainer: storage was needed.

The second part of the equation was the emotional side. Yes, before I left the marital home we'd had a good de-junk. It was easy to deal with old catalogues and newspapers, garden rubbish and broken kitchen equipment - that was fine. But what about the other stuff? The letters, written in better times? The photos - oh, goodness, the photos? The wedding album? The marriage was over; but I didn't want to erase that whole period from my life. Including our time at college, it covered a whole decade - not to be dismissed lightly. Should I throw out everything relating to that period?*

The fact remains that I wasn't ready to deal with that stuff, and I knew it. There was no way that, in that emotionally raw and fragile period of the few months (or even, as it turned out, years) after the breakup, that I was ready for that sort of decision-making. I wasn't working in the decluttering industry then, but my personality was geared up for efficiency and organisation - and even I couldn't manage that.

So in came the storage. In my case, I was fortunate enough not to have to find the money for it: my belongings were boxed up, labelled, and deposited in the attics and garages of three or four kind and understanding friends around south London. But paid or unpaid, that storage was vital. It meant that I could concentrate on reordering my life, finding my emotional stability again, the practical elements of finding a new home.

I left my childhood home after a six-month breathing space, and rented a tiny (and I mean tiny) part-furnished studio flat for the next year. At this point, I cleared some of my belongings; but many of them remained in those garages and attics until, finally, I bought my own one-bedroomed flat. Eighteen months after the marriage breakup, I reclaimed everything from my kind friends, and got my life back on track again. I was ready to refit, restart, and declutter.

My point in telling this story is that there are two major reasons for a legitimate use of storage facilities in the decluttering process. On the practical side, your life might take you anywhere. A business posting overseas; a member of the family travels on a gap year; university; relationship breakdown; the death of a parent.

On the emotional side, one needs to be ready for decluttering. There are some decisions that can't, and sometimes shouldn't, be made instantly. If storage helps you to achieve clarity in your living space, allowing you then to gradually filter the more difficult belongings back in (or out), then there is nothing wrong with that.

One of my clients had a major storage area in the house. It related to an incredibly difficult, painful and public divorce. That one room was used to hide the past until she was ready to face it. And face it we did: we worked together, for (if I remember rightly) two long, solid days, sorting into charity-keep-sell-recycle-dump. There were times that my client was distressed by what we found (we had a nickname for these items: UXBs, or UneXploded Bombs, that might jump up and explode in her face at any time). This was several years after the event, and it was hard for her then. Imagine how much harder it would have been when she was still punch-drunk and raw from the break.

The rest of her house was immaculate. I mean, immaculate. Beautiful, decorated with exquisite taste, planned with intelligence and creativity. She had her haven, and the past was in storage - albeit in the same house. Only when she was ready, and she needed that extra room for other purposes, did she turn to getting professional help; and the process was, in turn, made much easier by the fact that the rest of the house was under such excellent control.

There is one other excellent reason for hiring storage space: you need an extra room for one specific purpose, and it's a more cost-effective solution than moving home. I have heard of people who have extraordinary collections of items, which are precious, valuable and interesting to them, which simply won't fit in their home. The rental of a storage space - especially if it's one of those that is easily accessible on demand - keeps the home as a home, the collection safe and sound, and the financial outlay for such storage keeps in mind the value of such a collection. Let's face it, it's no different from renting a garage to keep one's car in (my father rented a garage for years in the basement of a nearby block of flats when he wasn't happy leaving a motor at the mercy of on-street parking in East London).

My decluttering colleagues can stop panicking. I'm not recommending that clients should push things out of sight - into a room at home, or one that is rented (which is effectively what storage hire is). Many people are ready to dive right in, get it sorted, save space and save money. What I am saying is that storage facilities are not the work of the devil, or the antithesis of our work to help people to achieve calm and ordered living spaces: they can be, for practical and/or emotional reasons, a necessitous breathing-space, an opportunity to think and make decisions, and a vital aid in seeing the wood for the trees.

*If anyone is interested, yes, I do have just a small amount of items relating to that decade. There are photographs - and yes, I still have my original wedding albums; there are a couple of diaries; there is a little envelope full of rather clever cartoons that my ex-husband, a talented humorist, used to leave on domestic notes, which even today make me smile. These are recollections of good times in a ten-year period that was still an important and valued part of my life.

Decluttering: for life, not just for Christmas?

Christmas is a great time for promoting your goods or services. "The perfect gift" will help out many folks desperate to find something more interesting than socks - or whatever your usual standby is for somebody special.

If you're selling 'things', you'll know your market. Whether it's clothes, jewellery, personalised gifts, wine, chocolate or whatever, you can target the necessary audience to attract the people you want as purchasers. Advertisements in local publications, special offers on your website, announcements on Facebook or Twitter.

Services are a little different. We might all benefit from services, but do we want to admit to that need - or do we all enjoy them? A voucher from a beauty therapist can be a lovely idea - but what if your mum (like mine) only ventures to the hairdresser because she has to, and really rather dislikes that kind of attention? No good giving theatre tickets for the panto if the recipient can't imagine anything worse than a chorus of "He's behind you". And we might all say from time to time "I'd love somebody to come and clean my house", but would the response be "are you saying my house is dirty"?

And that's my problem when it comes to my decluttering services. It sounds wonderful: give a decluttering day for a Christmas gift. But I wonder. In my experience, decluttering sessions are at their most successful when the person suffering from the clutter has made that decision for themselves. The daughter that says "My mum needs your help", the friend who says "My friend's house is a tip", and asks me to help out, might be acting with the best of intentions; but the mum, or the friend, are more likely to feel (a) threatened, (b) insulted or (c) terrified - or some combination of the three.

When my clients have reached the decision to get professional help with their clutter - whether it's an office, a wardrobe or a house - it's not (I'm told) any of these things. Liberating, enjoyable, fun, inspiring - all these things have been said about the process of Getting It Sorted.

However, these have all been people who have come to me of their own accord. They've reached a point where they feel that the help of an outsider will be of benefit to them; a fresh pair of eyes, some ideas on storage and the use of space, and (dare I say it) a bit of gentle nagging; inspiration, motivation, support and sympathy. But none of this can happen until they've come to that conclusion for themselves.

It's the old joke: How many counsellors does it take to change a lightbulb? One - but the lightbulb has to want to change.

So that's why I don't promote decluttering sessions as a gift. If somebody has discussed it with a loved one and between them, they've decided that that's the gift that is wanted, and one pays for the other, that's absolutely fine; but like the panto-hater getting the ticket for Jack & the Beanstalk, if it's not what they want, it will be a wasted gesture - no matter how much you may think they need it.

Decluttering is a gift: but it's one you're more likely to need to give to yourself.

What could make decluttering easier?

This is not my list. While these are policies and suggestions I use all the time, brevity is not one of my skills; this is an excellent little summary which turned up in one of the updates I get in my inbox from the wise and wonderful Nina Grunfeld of Life Clubs, and I thought it was well worth passing on.

1. Find a timer and set it for 5 minutes of decluttering only. You’ve always got the option of ignoring it when it goes.
2. Get help. Other people can be ruthless with your things.
3. Don’t beat yourself up that you never went to that play or cooked that recipe. You did something else instead.
4. Trust your intuition – you’ll know if you want to keep something. Any wavering, bin it.
5. If you’re only keeping something to be tactful, get rid of it.

Any questions?