My lovely neighbour Alison just came round to help me stash six boxes of books in the loft. I have more unread books than I could possibly read in my lifetime and yet still I buy more. I was trying to explain to her how painful it is to part with my collection of stuff, how trying to make decisions whether to keep or discard the most trivial of items brings tears to my eyes. Alison told me to watch the documentary "Me and My Hoarding Mum" in which a pretty young TV presenter and her two brothers try to persuade their much loved Mum make some space in her home for their younger brother who can't even find space in the bathroom never mind in his bedroom because of her collection of treasures largely puchased from charity shops.
I'm not that bad I thought, then noticed that I have seven address books spread over my kitchen work surface. I also have two more at work and two BlackBerry address books. Even when I transfer addresses I just can't throw the old one away. The psychiatrists on that very sad programme said there is no hope, no cure for hoarding. Doomed I am. Just save me from my children, please.
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