Turn left at the Dead Badger

I bounce between extremes where my bedroom is either quite tidy or complete squalor.

At the moment it's squalor.

Note - title of blog refers to the Black Books (another good site is this one), episode 'Manny Come Home'. Fran returns from holiday to find the bookshop in complete disarray because Bernard has fired Manny. She enters the shop to mounds of rubbish. Bernard calls out directions from the back of the shop. Goes something like this:

"Go past the bin bags........turn left at the mouldy George Elliot......turn right...go straight ahead....turn left at the dead badger...."

Well, at the moment there could be a dead badger somewhere in my room.

My mound of clothes moves from one section of the room to the other, depending on what part I'm using. If I need to go to bed, then I move all of it to the mound in front of the cupboard. When I get up, I make my bed, then pile everything back onto the bed. It's a fabulous system. Sometimes, I become motivated to actually tidy. Such a mundane business tidying. Some people take great pride in doing such menial chores. Very tidy people scare me. Too orderly. Too regimented. On the other hand, the type of person who grows cultures in obscure places (under bed, on old food, in their navel), also scare me.

Finding a happy medium is good. I think I've found it. I'm a quirky cleaner. That means I clean when I want.

Unfortunately this leads to several problems. I lose my keys...in my room...at least twice a day. I misplace work stuff, where it usually resurfaces somewhere under the bed (where I must say...it probably bloodywell belongs).

On the other hand, it has benefits. I have honed my bloodhound-like skills at finding things (especially keys). I am physically fit from constantly doing laps of the combat course which makes up the route from my bed to my door.

If I ever hook up with a guy who is a neat freak, then I will schedule time out for relationship counseling in readiness for the disagreements we will have. I can see it now. Me walking around like Pigpen out of Peanuts cartoon, surrounded by a cloud of dust.Him following me around the house with a dustpan and brush, picking up my clutter. Alphabetising my CD collection. Organising my food cupboard into rows. Throwing out food from the fridge that is only 1 day past its use by date (a crime!!!!). He could gasp at my 5 second rule to spilt food.

I could be the Oscar to his Felix (The Odd Couple). In fact, it could be a complete role reversal. He could cook and clean for me. I could try my hand at DIY and put the garbage out. What a match!!

Then again, I'm not that bad. When I was in my teens and early twenties, I had (actually have still but I wont mention your name), a friend whose house resembled Noah's Ark (on crack). How could I ever forget the times I would go to use the iron (I practically lived there), but beforehand had to spray insect repellent on my legs to protect against the fleas that would literally jump up at you for fresh blood. You see the ironing board was situated upstairs, on a natural seagrass mat. The fleas lived in the mat and, if the room was quiet, you could hear the little beggars jumping and landing. At the time they had 2 dogs and 2 cats. Even with all the fleas, I loved that household.

Aaaaah.........Good times. Good times.