Sunday, 29 December 2013

The cull

Back when Michael Jackson was wearing his own nose, I was a Girl Guide. And a pretty good one too, as I recall, doggedly and competitively amassing a clutch of, in hindsight, pretty useless badges.

One summer holidays my troupe made the journey to Ruapheu for a week; the only thing I can remember from that trip is being awarded the 'tidiest guide' award.

Being tidy is both a blessing and a curse; the Animator often rolls his eyes as my obsessive compulsive behaviour, while I love to wrap myself in the blanket of smug that comes from having a spotlessly clean home/handbag/hard-drive, etc.

Regular readers will know that I got totally slammed by work this year: I said yes to too many assignments and evenings and weekends - prime cleaning times - were spent chained to my laptop. An intervention was long overdue.

Today, I managed to tackle some of my dust demons and spent more time than was strictly necessary cleaning kitchen cupboards, drawers and anything else that looked like it needed it.

The fallen soldiers of this cleaning frenzy included the many and various plastic containers and mis-matched lids that I've collected over the last two years. I blame our local Thai takeout (damn you Mt Vic for your proximity to such culinary greatness) and my insane desire to give the leftover containers a home.

This is only a fraction of what I chucked today. What's the bet that by this time next year the collection will have once more grown to dangerous proportions?

And yes is the answer to the 'do you realise how sad you are' question.








                      

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