I yearn to live a clutter-free life. Instead of hoarding lots of, well, stuff, I want to pare my belongings down to the minimum, the true necessities. But it isn't going to happen. I can't bear to part with anything and I worry that if I do get rid, I'll only regret it sometime later when whatever it is is no longer to hand. And the older I get, the more stuff I acquire. For instance, my wardrobes are jammed full of my "thin" clothes (in case I get back to being a size 10) and my "you are SO not thin" clothes and then the ones in between. I did have a number of items from Biba and Mary Quant (quite something at the time of buying for a girl from this neck of the woods) which I'd hung onto for many years until one of several house moves caused them to end up in some charity bag or other. And I've mourned their loss ever since. (Probably something to do with seeing my youth going into the charity bag with the clothes). So you get the picture. I hang on to my stuff. Or I did until yesterday.
Behind these doors were once enough cartons, packets, jars and bags to supply most of the residents of Coronation Street. But not any more. Take a look at this....
I had to do something as every time someone opened the cupboard doors, stuff fell out. (And have you tried to get garam masala out of your hair? Whatever you do, don't add water!). The decluttering was quite easy (the shelves still look quite full in the photographs but in reality there's lots of space), once I realised I didn't need to hang onto the dozens of nutmegs I'd bought in the West Indies in 2000, nor do I really need 5 bottles of soy sauce at any one time.Or 8 bags of brown sugar. The whole experience was positively cleansing, for both cupboard and soul. And it didn't stop there. I moved onto another cupboard and decluttered that. It's amazing what you find lurking at the back and what you decide you can do without. I'm still not sure what possessed me to buy a cat collar and feeding bowl. You see, we don't have a cat.