Some Days Only the Trivial Will Do

Although there are weighty things gong on in the world, some days it is only the trivial that fascinates me, or, more specifically, that inspires me to write.  And where there is inspiration, I simply have to follow, as I can never tell where it will lead; sometimes to nothing, sometimes to a nugget of interest.

As I write this I have no idea which direction we’re headed, so if you like certainty in your writer, look away now.

I’ve noticed a mini trend online in the last 10 days or so; it may well be limited to my circle of contacts, and who knows if the wider Zeitgeist may have provoked it, but there seems to be a lot of tidying going on; tidying of drawers to be more specific.

Gillian has been tidying her ‘man drawer’, with directly beneficial results which have inspired others.  Members of my online writing community have been organising their underwear drawers as an effective displacement activity when they should have been inscribing words on a page.

And I’d always thought Spring was the time of year for that sort of thing; but clearly not……. unless people are secretly doing it all the time, but not letting on.

I’ve not been tidying, nor organising, nor contemplating a good clear out or decluttering.  Maybe I should, but generally I know where most things are and find the effort involved in a purge unappealing.  In fact, all the stuff I brought home at the end of my recent drawing course moved me more in the direction of greater mounds of things rather than smaller ones.

And although, sparing the huge pile of filing, my home is relatively tidy, I have to confess it is probably under dusted and vacuumed, as both are activities with such short lived benefits.  It was only when I was giving the place a bit of a brush up earlier this week that I realised that one of the reasons I vacuum so infrequently is that I loathe my vacuum cleaner.

It’s almost too strong an emotion to describe a relationship to an inanimate object, but it’s the truth.  The thing is cunningly awkward and wilfully  useless.   It spends its days in the cupboard plotting how it is going to fail to perform the next time it is brought out.  I’m not so deluded to think it is conspiring with the ironing board, but there are days where it could be a distinct possibility.

I know that irritation might be the appropriate response to its failure to function properly for any more than a couple of minutes at a time.  But it is escalated to loathing because of the fact that it does exactly the thing that its manufacturers promise that it won’t do.

It’s a Dyson; you know the ads – all that guff about cyclones, no bags, no loss of suction, innovation, blah blah.  Aaargh.  It makes me cross just to type the words.

After a minute of working I have to stop to empty it because if I leave it any longer and the dreaded red light comes on, I have to abort any further cleaning, as no amount of emptying, cajoling, threatening, dismantling or anything else will convince the thing to work on carpet again until it has had a long rest in the cupboard.  I hate it.

Maybe what I need is a tidied drawer.

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  1. Many moons ago I was warned off Dyson vacuum cleaners for their failure to do the job. The best vacuum cleaner I ever had was a simple cheap Hoover I bought in Paris. It was amazing. It was killed at just one year old by builders using it to clean up plaster dust. I mourn it still.

    • It’s like the search for the Holy Grail….!

      • You will not believe this. Two hours ago I was phoned by Dyson (yes, honestly) to ask me if I was happy with my Dyson! I said I had got rid of it years ago (must be 10 at least) because it was so bad!! How weird is that?

      • Crikey! How extraordinary; there must be something in the air. If they phoned me I could put them straight ….. and refer them to my blog!

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