Buoyed by the exhilarating experience of decluttering my wardrobe with professional Sussex organiser, Katie Wellman, Make Room to Breathe, I didn’t waste a breath in booking her to declutter my kitchen.
It was a move long overdue.
A quick reccy of the cupboards bursting with tins, bottles and dry goods revealed: four opened bags of plain flour, a huge jar of sugar accompanied by two unopened bags, four bottles of brown sauce in varying stages of fermentation, and an assortment of dried herbs with a use by date, circa 1976.
Indeed, the day before Katie’s visit, I’d had an unpleasant altercation with a bottle of balsamic vinegar which saw my pristine white Skechers, coated in the pungent amber fluid that merrily cascaded over feet and floor.
To add to this culinary chaos, my husband had commandeered two cupboards; one for his collection of precious Japanese shears, the other for the 3,000 screws collected over his lifetime, plus bits of garden twine, and six spare knobs for drawers from our last kitchen. I had protested in vain.
Would Katie succeed where I had failed?
Now, I must tell you that I love cooking. So, I have amassed some decent pans and baking trays plus a plethora of utensils as a sign of my commitment to the cause. I also have a thing for bowls and ramekins, bordering on the obsessive.
I did wonder if Katie would be able to prise me away from my precious pottery. Encouraging me to concede several jumpers to the charity bag was surely easier than parting me from a set of ramekins I’ve never used, but nevertheless, I coo over them every time I open the door, simply to behold their beauty.
So, on the due day, Katie arrived, with bags and boxes aplenty plus her anti bac spray for cleaning out the decanted drawers and cupboards. I felt smug that just the week before I had cleaned every surface. Preparation is key, I’d told myself.
Everything was going swimmingly…
Katie reorganised every space for food, crockery, and cooking utensils in such a manner that I was swooning at her skills, again. With a flourish, she cleared out hubby’s cupboards. He entered the fray, halfway through the session and conceded all territory to Katie – something that had eluded me when I was waving Niwaki shears at him in a menacing manner.
Katie also worked her magic on me, again. I managed to part with many bowls and ramekins plus a hundred bedraggled cleaning cloths and an assortment of motley tablecloths. And that was just for starters. Her line of questioning: ‘Do you really need this, Dee?’ followed by, ‘When did you last use it, Dee?’ worked a treat, every time. That woman is hypnotic.
However, the drama of the day was left to the last cupboard, when Katie whispered to me: “Dee there are mice droppings.” Hand on heart, I thought she’d said rice droppings and was trying to remember when I sprinkled wild rice on my Nutri Bullet and basins.
And there they were, a sprinkling of black pellets. I was mortified.
The culprit was easy enough to track. Husband had forgotten my orders to keep the fat balls for the birds in the shed. Instead, they’d made their home in the corner cupboard. I cannot remember the last time I sprayed bleach so liberally onto a corner carousel with everything bar the Bullet, in the dishwasher.
Thankfully, Katie was unruffled. After four hours, my kitchen was decluttered to within an inch of its life. I had cupboards and drawers with space, a little drawer for my grandson, Teddy, and a cavernous drawer for all the dried food. By changing the function of several spaces, Katie had pulled off a blinder. As before, she loaded up her car with several large bags and boxes, brimming with bowls, the ice cream scoops you buy in double digits (and never use), not to mention a plethora of plastic jugs, bought as pound shop bargains. All heading for charity shops and recycling. What a service!
As for the mice, I’m pleased to report no further sightings of rice droppings. The bird food remains in the shed along with tools and twine.
In my next world exclusive column, I introduce you to our hens and the noisy little cockerel.
Contributed by one of our writers and columnist, Sussex based bestselling author, Dee Blick. Her latest book, The Boutique is available on Amazon but you can also buy it by contacting Dee at dee@themarketinggym.org
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