Every year, around this time, a strange phenomenon takes over not only me, but many of my family and friends too.
The polishes, cleansers and scrubbers come out and the annual spring clean commences.
Now, I’m not normally the most house proud woman. It can often be days, or even in excess of a week, between vacuumings and dustings even longer.
But every spring I feel compelled to clear out, clean up and de-clutter.
What is it about the sunnier mornings that makes everyone feel they need to finally get rid of that broken kettle?
My weekend was spend up to my elbows in bleach as I tackled all the house keeping that I manage to skip the rest of the year.
The oven was given it’s annual deep clean, the skirting boards washed and kitchen cupboards cleared.
By the Sunday afternoon the house was sparkling and so I decided to take on the wardrobe.
As I mentioned in last week’s column, I am one to hang on to clothes.
I’ve got teeny, tiny dresses from my youth that nowadays my thigh wouldn’t even fit into, garments way past their best and a multitude of accessories from long forgotten sporting pursuits.
I used to try to have a clear out every year, but once Emma moved out, the fitted wardrobes in her room became my overflow.
Now, even the overflow is over flowing.
I started clearing out at 9 a.m. on Sunday and at 1 p.m. Emma arrived to take me shopping. She found me in a pile of clothes in hysterics.
There are so many memories attached to the garments.
The strapless dress reminded me of the time my friend slipped and grabbed on to me, pulling my dress down in the process. The jodhpurs of my one and only horse riding lesson when I spent more time in the mud than on the horse and I found my ridiculous bug-eye spectacles from the 1980s.
But I was ruthless and hardly kept a thing. It’s all off to the charity shop - for someone else to wear then look back and laugh.