Spring cleaning......

Every year it's the same, the temperature starts to rise, the sun comes out and I get this urge to de-clutter.


 I'm no minimalist, I like a cosy home but sometimes I get the distinct feeling that I'm disappearing under stuff. For years I've gone around muttering William Morris's 'have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.' I do try to live by it but, then again, I'd probably have to chuck myself out if I did. 


I've always been ruthless with my wardrobe and have a rule that if something hasn't been worn for a year then out it goes. Whoever came up with the idea of those charity collection bags is a genius in my book, I can have a clear out and feel I'm helping worthwhile causes at the same time, guilt free de-cluttering. 


I have a one in, one out rule for everything else (apart from the kids, they were both allowed to stay) and it does help keep the place reasonably under control, but there's one area that drives me mental - the attic. I just know it's been full of crap for years. 


The problem is I can't get up there as I'm hopeless with heights, stand me on a stool and I get vertigo. Fortunately though, son number one is now tall enough to go up for me so I've embarked on Operation Clear Attic although I'm beginning to wish I hadn't.


It appears there's enough clutter up there to fill another house. There's the stuff you'd expect to find in most people's loft - the artificial Christmas tree missing a few branches; dodgy looking suitcases; concert programmes, old school reports, photo albums, baby memorabilia.


I also have an antique standard lamp with an authentic silk covered flex that would undoubtedly electrocute me if I were mad enough to try to use it, bucket loads of soft toys and lurid pictures that I can't believe I would ever have hung on my walls. 


What I hadn't expected to find was a tent. A two room, four person tent complete with bed rolls, awning and groundsheets. Never used. I'd completely forgotten buying it. It was one of those hair brained moments, you know the ones, when an image pops into your head. Mine was completely deluded - a happy family around a campfire on a warm summer's evening, having a great time out in the open air in a beautiful campsite overlooking a gorgeous beach.


I know I'm not the only one. Friends bought a tent and set off with their two kids for a fortnight's camping in Lyme Regis. They lasted three days. Another friend said she fell for the flowery Cath Kidston fantasy of camping but managed only one night before packing up and coming home. I'm sure there are expert campers out there, I just haven't ever met any. 


I completely blame that fantasy, because that's exactly what it is, for buying the tent. I should have known better and let reality kick in before I handed over the credit card, because reality would have reminded me that my one and only experience of camping was as a Girl Guide and I hated every minute. It rained; a friend fell in a nettle patch within minutes of arriving; the tent leaked if you so much as brushed a fingertip against it; we had to make shoe stands out of twigs for some bizarre reason and the loos were.....well, the less said about them the better. We quickly learned not to stand downwind of them. 


I remember now that I did give the tent a trial run and put it up in the back garden. Well, tents have certainly changed since my days as a guide when it was all hefty cream canvas, guy ropes and thumping in tent pegs with a whopping great mallet. At least you know where you are with a tent peg and a length of rope. This tent was virtually pop up and held together by lengths of elastic that ran through channels. Needless to say it took bloody hours. We were just standing back to admire our handiwork when the next door neighbour sauntered over (she being one of those practical RAF wife types), took one look and asked in a slightly amused voice 'is there any reason why you've put it up inside out?'