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This is an interesting one to answer. I’m the daughter of an OCD mother, who hated any mess. Everything had to be tidy, tidy, tidy. Cushions would get plumped up as soon as anyone got up from the sofa, the toilet seat would be polished to an inch of its life, and I’d get told to get out of bed so that she could tidy it. I’d get nagged at because my wardrobe was too untidy, my toy cupboard was too untidy and my hair was too untidy. In fact everything about me was apparently untidy.
When I left home aged 20 I no longer had to be tidy. In fact I rebelled at such a tidy upbringing. My cupboards were left untidy; so untidy in fact that they turned into a ‘pleased to meet you’ cupboard, where as soon as you open the door everything falls out. We’ve been in our house for 35 years; it’s cleaned regularly, but there isn’t a tidy cupboard in any room. Sam’s sister once visited and remarked on how untidy my bookshelves were. It was like being with my mother all over again.
I love clutter and untidiness; for me it makes a house a home. I’ve always told Sam that he can tidy anything he wants to, but he doesn’t care and chooses to leave things as they are. Now I have my own office, it’s liberating! I can make the whole room as untidy as I want to. I don’t want to reduce clutter, in fact I want to celebrate it. Somewhere up on the astral plane my mother hovers over me and shakes her head.
Stevie Turner 