Laundry

Living in The Shed is alright, actually.
It’s not cold, it’s lovely when it rains and it makes us feel close to nature. I have become so aware of what is going on down here at the bottom of the garden, that I have taken it upon myself to name the visiting crows, grow fruit and create a mini version of the gardens at Versailles. The latter is, as yet, unimpressive.

The Four Little Seymours are enjoying living in The Shed, mostly. Apart from the fact that they have all learned the phrase “Is nothing sacred?”, after they help themselves to each other’s stuff more often than is polite, owing to the lack of sibling-safe storage. But we’ve been over that before. I won’t dwell on it again.

The current problem, though, is a big one. I have no real solution – but I am going to need one. Big Seymour has well-and-truly hammered home the message that we won’t be back in the Funny Little Bungalow any time soon, by pointing out that it took us SIX YEARS to do the last place, and that was much smaller.

Yay.

So, here is my problem: I have Four Little Seymours, one Big One, and me. Each Seymour wears approximately fourteen pairs of socks per day, whilst leaving the discarded ones grass-stained and forlorn under the trampoline or behind the towel rail in our makeshift shower room (often as singleton socks, not in pairs). Most Seymours wear fifteen school jumpers a week, after toothpaste, yoghurt, Marmite and jam have been bandied about thereon. Some Seymours (mentioning no names) are thrifty with pants (eurgh), but others seems to get through them, to the point where, at eight o’clock most mornings, we have none. Little Seymour Number One had to wear a pair of mine last week.

Big Seymour blows holes out of his undercrackers, or so it seems. When he bent over the other day, owing to the fact that we are living in close proximity to each other, we were all treated to a curious display which shall remain undescribed. I urged him not to put those pants back into circulation. But I bet he has.

As for my stuff, we all know that Trinny has sorted me out. I never, ever wear those awful jeans now. I team jackets with three-quarter length capri trousers. I accessorize. I brush my hair. My wardrobe is capsule. My style – effortless.

Which is all bullsh!t, of course. Sorry, Trinny, my love, but if you can find me a solution to style under these circumstances, I welcome it. Hey! I know what’d do it! A small percentage of your massive fortune towards my embryonic dressing room that remains frustratingly unbuilt! Then I would do as you say this time, I promise…

Yes. We have a lot of laundry. But we have a lot of clothes. And, whilst I am desperate to find a streamlining solution to The Garment Crisis, I cannot believe that I need to get rid of everything to achieve it.

On Sunday, Little Seymour Number Two was given a glorious bag-load of beautiful hand-me-downs. She was so excited – she’s now kitted out for the next two years. She tried on every item, from t-shirts to maxi dresses, mini skirts and jeans with a look of pure, unadulterated joy on her face. She is rather a clothes horse. Hand-me downs save us an absolute fortune, and I am always very grateful for them – especially as I now have no excuse not to go through her old stuff and cull the dross there.

So, today’s challenge is to re-organise the clothing system in The Shed. Will I opt for drawers on top of the shower room? Or Tesco trays by the window. Some hanging rails would certainly be nice.

And will I, as I hope to be able to report, make my way to the charity drop-off this afternoon, with a huge bundle of items to donate? Not the usual well-worn, scruffy rags that are only good for fabric recycling, but decent stuff that, even though it is great, and I could use it someday, is excess to my current needs…

Or maybe I’ll fail, and tuck it all away in the bulging garage?

We shall see.