Organised – in what form? All forms I guess – i wish that everything had a place in my house, that the boot of my car contained supplies and contingencies for every eventuality, my clothes and shoes were organised in some kind of way that I could actually see or wear what I owned. Instead I amble from day to day clad in the same outfits in rotation, never seeming to have a sun hat or coat or spare socks on hand when I need them. Don’t even start me on the drawers in my kitchen or, god forbid, under the stairs. So I’m not a tidy person. Or maybe I am but that gene is recessive when pitted against my inherent laziness.
Maybe when the boys are a bit older and every room becomes less of a wilderness for plastic toys of every and all kind I will evolve into someone who has only one junk drawer instead of several in each room. I will put things away where they belong and everything will have a place – my pantry will remind visitors of Sleeping with the Enemy and husband-man will marvel at how his pants are to be found laundered, pressed and neatly folded in his top drawer. Until then I guess I will bask in my minor achievements – having a drawer of cards for most greeting emergencies, owning three mashers and keeping ninety toilet rolls under the sofa in the front room. Small victories.