ChatterBank0 min ago
ever start something..wish you hadn't?
32 Answers
Have spent the morning painting my bedroom...just finished but am now left with a mountain of stuff taken down from top of wardrobes...where did it all come from..?..and where is it going to go ?.....what have you lurking in the recesses..?
Answers
Story of my life ..........or house MurrayMints. Its always a mystery to me after clearing stuff out for hours on end and throwing away bags and bags I always seem to end up with more to put back and it just won't fit! My spare bedroom is full of clutter, no room for a bed in there! OH has nicknamed the spare bedroom "The Lost Tribes" and if we mislay something,...
17:30 Tue 28th Feb 2012
Story of my life ..........or house MurrayMints. Its always a mystery to me after clearing stuff out for hours on end and throwing away bags and bags I always seem to end up with more to put back and it just won't fit! My spare bedroom is full of clutter, no room for a bed in there! OH has nicknamed the spare bedroom "The Lost Tribes" and if we mislay something, usually paperwork, he always says "have you tried the lost tribes?"
I have previously posted this Pam Ayres poem on AB which you may have already seen, but it always makes me chuckle as it was probably written just for me (and you murraymints!)
Heaps of Stuff by Pam Ayres
How I wish that I was tidy
How I wish that I was neat
How I wish I was methodical
Like others down out street.
I tried to stem the rising tide
I tried to hold it back
But I have been the victim
Of a heap of stuff attack.
Yes, heaps of stuff come creeping,
They clutter up the hall.
And heaps of stuff are softly
Climbing halfway up the wall.
At each end of the staircase
Is a giant heap, a stack;
One to carry up the stairs
And one to carry back.
In a heap of stuff invasion
They settle everywhere -
They grovel on the lino
They tower on the chair.
You’re searching for a jacket,
“Is it in here?” you shout,
And, opening the cupboard door,
A heap of stuff falls out.
But heaps are many-faceted
And heaps are multi-faced
And what a heap is made of
Will depend on where it’s placed.
Now if it’s in the passage
It is mostly boots and shoes
And if it’s on the sofa
It is magazines and news.
If it’s in the shed
It’s broken propagating frames
And if it’s in the bathroom
Well, it’s best to say no names,
And if it’s in the bedroom -
Your own and not the guest’s -
The heap of stuff is mostly made
Of socks and shirts and vests.
For a heap is indestructible,
It’s something you can’t fight.
If you split it up by day
It joins back up at night.
So cunningly positioned
as from room to room you trek,
Increasing all the chances
That you trip and break your neck.
But step into my parlour
Now I’ve forced the door ajar;
I’ll excavate an easy chair -
Just cling there where you are.
And together we’ll survey it
Till our eyes they feast enough
On the tidiest home in England
Underneath the heaps of stuff.
I have previously posted this Pam Ayres poem on AB which you may have already seen, but it always makes me chuckle as it was probably written just for me (and you murraymints!)
Heaps of Stuff by Pam Ayres
How I wish that I was tidy
How I wish that I was neat
How I wish I was methodical
Like others down out street.
I tried to stem the rising tide
I tried to hold it back
But I have been the victim
Of a heap of stuff attack.
Yes, heaps of stuff come creeping,
They clutter up the hall.
And heaps of stuff are softly
Climbing halfway up the wall.
At each end of the staircase
Is a giant heap, a stack;
One to carry up the stairs
And one to carry back.
In a heap of stuff invasion
They settle everywhere -
They grovel on the lino
They tower on the chair.
You’re searching for a jacket,
“Is it in here?” you shout,
And, opening the cupboard door,
A heap of stuff falls out.
But heaps are many-faceted
And heaps are multi-faced
And what a heap is made of
Will depend on where it’s placed.
Now if it’s in the passage
It is mostly boots and shoes
And if it’s on the sofa
It is magazines and news.
If it’s in the shed
It’s broken propagating frames
And if it’s in the bathroom
Well, it’s best to say no names,
And if it’s in the bedroom -
Your own and not the guest’s -
The heap of stuff is mostly made
Of socks and shirts and vests.
For a heap is indestructible,
It’s something you can’t fight.
If you split it up by day
It joins back up at night.
So cunningly positioned
as from room to room you trek,
Increasing all the chances
That you trip and break your neck.
But step into my parlour
Now I’ve forced the door ajar;
I’ll excavate an easy chair -
Just cling there where you are.
And together we’ll survey it
Till our eyes they feast enough
On the tidiest home in England
Underneath the heaps of stuff.
