2019 I’ve got you.
The second day of this year saw me carting nine – count ‘em, NINE! – bin bags of assorted cack out of my sons’ ‘play room’ into the car and down to the local recycling centre.
I’m looking at the floor right now and feeling unfeasibly pleased with the nice green carpet – I’d quite forgotten what it looked like. In a moment I will delight myself by walking, unimpeded, from the door to the window. Then maybe back the other way. Looking at the space I can’t even imagine how nine bin bags of books, toys, dvds, old clothes, trainers, sports gear and unspeakable rubbish squirrelled itself into the room.
Anyway, no need for gym membership.
After 11 hours of packing, hauling and heaving the detritus and a further 2 of shifting all the furniture about as I hoovered and dusted I've done a complete workout: cardio carrying stuff up and down the stairs, weight training with all the lifting and carrying, endurance with keeping my temper under control when I think about how many times I fruitlessly asked them to clear up.
And now the room is transformed into a calm, tidy, CLEAN work room and study. Only the books they need are on the shelves (two of the bin bags were packed with GCSE books and notes). The broken telly has gone, the xbox is downstairs where I can monitor how many virtual enemies they kill, and we are left with a comfy old sofa and a neat desk and chair. And an expanse of clear, uncluttered, green-carpeted floor, the nap nicely raised by a good vac.
It’s not only nice on the surface, either.
I’ve replaced the blown lightbulbs, fixed the dodgy window catch, bled the radiator and squirted WD40 into the squeaky door handle mechanism.
Everything is perfect.
Except…now it’s all clean and sound what a wonderful opportunity to make it beautiful. Paint or paper, I wonder?
Watch this space.