I’m not going to apologise – I love my trips to the tip.  I’ve not made a secret of my dislike of clutter.  Once it’s outgrown its usefulness to me, it’s time for recycling and transformation, although I accept that not everything is worthy of a charity shop sale.  After all, who needs a turmeric stained wooden spoon that’s already past it?  I leave such serious recycling to the municipal experts, along with retired fashion items and our garden waste.

Lockdown bought our cluttered study into sharper focus.  Early TV interviews demonstrated that celebrities’ studies can be more interesting than their owners.  I’m no celebrity although I’ve realised that I didn’t need so much stuff to prove my worth.  But what else could I do with all that paper filed with such precision over the years?  It made such an impact when I read it or wrote it, but now the words are almost faded on the page.  Expensive plastic sleeves purchased with such pride no longer excite me, neither do the once stylish lever arch files which they called home.  Important journal articles have been captured electronically, along with my wisdom, so why on earth do I need the paper trail as well?

It was liberating. The study heaved a sigh of relief as I jettisoned paper, old phone chargers and empty little boxes I’d saved “just in case”.  I found other uses for my treasures where I could.  An empty Tom Ford box (complete with its own designer tissue) now repurposed into a new home for multiple phone accessories, earphones and the like.  They’ll certainly be a great find next time around.

Our study is once again fit for scrutiny and a safe place for coaching.  The desk drawers now contain stationery and it’s easy to find a pen instead of my husband’s cherished golf scorecards (which came back from the tip).  The books are stacked vertically on the shelves with precision and our much-loved study is now an appropriate backdrop for film and video conferencing or coaching.

My empty car is soon a welcoming sight at the tip although I’m thrilled by what neighbouring vehicles have to offer.  I look on in awe as broken toasters mingle with unwanted exercise equipment and discarded garden trampolines.  I’m fascinated by the speed at which sheds are deconstructed and their owners’ resort to argument.  Maybe that’s just their relief from isolation?  Intrigued by the absurdity of peoples’ junk and their temporary dislike of each other, who needs TV when you can visit the tip?

Let me know if you need encouragement to sort out your stuff … or just need to chat.