Decluttering is the ultimate act of love
‘You are going to die before me and leave me to deal with this, and I will curse your soul for all eternity,’ I once said half-jokingly to my husband over a glass of wine. We were having one of our regular conversations about what he was going to do about his late uncle’s possessions, which had arrived at our house in lorry-loads about a year after we had married. ‘Why don’t you do half an hour of sorting every weekend? I will help you,’ I would suggest in reference to the multiple barns, basements and attics at our farm, which were now piled high with three generations’ worth of male hoarding. But with an increasing number of children in the house and no sense of urgency, progress was slow.