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Ok, so I'm late to the party, but I am sitting here slack-jawed at Marie Kondo. No, I am most decidedly NOT a fan.

Ms Kondo tells us that our clothes have feelings. Now, call me a cynic, but I am struggling with the concept of my knickers being a sentient beings. Exquisitely origami'd sock drawers do not leave me breathless with joy. Throwing away books does not give me more time to read the books I really want to, because I simply read the book I want to and leave the others in peace. That takes no time at all.

Come to our house and get covered in cat hair. Feel free to make your own coffee and help yourself from the fridge. Sprawl on the sofa (or grass, weather permitting) and admire my Rotten Corner flowers or pound shop roses. Take in the view of washing drying on radiators. Feel at home, not as if you're sat in a showroom, that's right, take your shoes and socks off and carelessly discard them on the floor.

Life is too short and too precious to waste on precise t-shirt folding or angst brought on by social media telling you this is what you need to do to make your messy life perfect.

It's just a more socially acceptable form of bullying and shaming in the digital age. Now we aren't allowed to call people fat, and are moving away from insisting that were all gazelle-like flawless skinned uniorns, our homes are under scrutiny.


Call me Madam

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