Stuff

"There are three kinds of people in the world: those who can do maths, and those who can't."
No, seriously though, when it comes to hoarding or getting rid of stuff, there are two kinds of people: which are you, a hoarder or a ridder**?
My loft had become so cluttered (no, I am not blaming my children, even though it's their fault) that even the mice have moved out, squeaking the rodent equivalent of "Lebensraum! Lebensraum!"
So for the last two days, I have been having a blitz. As a Gemini (don't tell Father Tony I said that), I veer between the two modes, hoard or rid. At the moment I am in rid-mode, filling boxes labelled "Rubbish", "Charity Shop" and "Give to Friends". There's a mountain of inexplicable computer stuff - cables, adaptors, keyboards, plugs, and little bits of twisted black wire - and it's all going to go. I was tempted to put this computer garbage in a box labelled "Give to Enemies", but I am much too nice to do such a thing.
I don't find it easy to be a ridder, mainly because my experience has always been that I will need any item which I have treasured within twenty-four hours of throwing it away. My son's a minimalist, and his philosophy is: if you haven't used it or needed it for a year, dump it, the only exception to his rule being photographs, letters and similar sentimental items that can never be replaced.
Anyway, lots of open space upstairs now, the mice are standing on the window ledge waiting, and it's time for me to have a coffee in that mug I bought in America, you know, the one with the birds on it. Oh sh*t, I threw it out yesterday.....


**Note to my foreign friends: the word "ridder" does not exist, but it ought to.