I get a headache even contemplating the idea of cleaning. I hate it.
The newspapers and magazines scattered around the front room were in danger of becoming a fire hazard and C. was quite possibly on the verge of walking out. So I have dealt with them. With the exception of a few articles which I still need (I'm sure that point will be debated) the whole lot have been deposited in an orange recycling sack.
My problem now is housing the wobbly stack of books next to my chair. They simply won't fit on the shelves. Ruthlessness seemed the only option and I attacked the bookcases with energy and vigour. This resulted in twelve books being removed for the charity shop. Out of a possible three hundred and fifty or so.
And the front room still looks worse than when I started.