We’ve all seen the hoarders on TV.
A few years back there was a freak show epidemic on Channel 4.
Sympathetically told stories of good people who’ve are stuck with terrible conditions: the man with no skin, the woman with a second head that hates her – you get the picture. Amongst the litany of unlucky individuals there were the hoarders.
From the outside there were relatively normal people. A little rough round the edges or perhaps a touch edgy, but not really that strange – until you step inside their homes. The middle class presenter of the show tip toes into the apartment of the poor individual and then spends the next hour of the program attempting to hide their shocked sensibilities.
Cardboard boxes, stuffed and stacked to the ceiling, threaten to crush the camera crew whilst the occupant crawls through make-shift tunnel systems, underneath the detritus of his life that he’s accumulated over the years, unwittingly building the mountain of tat, that now threatens to become his mausoleum.
As the dirty, dishevelled individual talks in front of the camera – trying to explain how the breakdown of his marriage and loss of custody of his kids really have nothing to do with the hundreds of children’s toys and women’s dresses, that have built the foundation of his crummy fortress of solitude, he starts to cry. Within an hour of well edited television, he confronts his problems, gets a professional organiser and declutterer over and the place is spick and span: happy endings all round!
I recently had a team of professionals around to sort out the sorry state that is my house.
I’ve not had a bad year, I’m yet to be divorced by my non-existent wife, or separated from my fictional children – I just love buying stuff.
It’s simply really. Once you get to a certain age, and if you’re fortunate enough to own a home (or be on the way to paying one off) then you’ll find that you have a bit of expendable income on your hands. Now, for a man who’s spent a large portion of his life as a penniless student, the notion of being able to just spend cash with no thought of the consequences was like walking into a dream.
Suddenly all the useless middle-class gadgets, that I’d watched my friends buy over the years, were within my reach. A walk through John Lewis was no longer a useless trek through a swamp of consumer electronics that were out of my reach. Every item was within my price range and no item was too outrageous. Of course there was no way that I was going to use all of them – who was I kidding?
Bread makers are fun to have, but they’re also really big.
Storing them in your kitchen, when you’re not using them is just a waste of space – so it goes into the garage. Although you might have loved Great British Bake Off when it was on, it turns out that your lust for baking mysteriously disappeared after the season finale – that can slot in next to the juicer, smoother and espresso machine.
If you were feeling even slightly entrepreneurial, you could open your own cafe – but you don’t, you stack one piece of expensive tech onto another – until the only option is to call in a professional to sort out the mess.