I hate clutter. That may surprise anyone who has ever visited my house. But what’s important to realise is that there is a difference between wanting a tidy house and being able to achieve it.
I have friends with grown up, tidy houses. Friends with grown up, tidy houses AND KIDS. I’m at a loss as to how this is achieved. I’m guessing the crucial ingredients are a domestic goddess mother, and a well-trained, or at least trainable family. Here, we have neither.
So it seems that I am doomed to wake up each day, vow to have A BIG TIDY UP, sometimes even achieve a middle-sized tidy up, and then go to bed wondering which house it was that I tidied earlier.
This poem, if you’d be so kind, is to be read with a hint of insanity in the voice. Thank you so much.
Nothing makes me mutter more than clutter
But I think they think it puts itself away.
Which all adds up to a house which makes me twitch.
In the playroom, there’s two hundred, maybe three.
Have to stay there til I work out what it’s for.
And I don’t know how much longer I can cope.
The clatter as more clutter takes its place.
By the way – if you were thrown by the word “guff”, do let me know – I’m not sure if this delightful term for a fart is only understood by those who were around seven years old in 1984. Could even be a Somerset thing, I’m not sure!
I do have in my pocket the alternative line “There is barely any fart-room in the bathroom – which I quite like – but I was swayed by the opportunity to say “guff” for the first time in around twenty years!
©️ Nina Parmenter 2018
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