Our fearless Editorial Director Karen McCartney explores uncharted territories and finds hidden treasures (and a little trash) at home. 

For two and a half years I was writing a book, mostly at the weekends, and if not actually writing I was thinking about writing, grumbling about writing and generally fine tuning the art of procrastination. I tell you this only to excuse why I have failed to turn my attention to the unruly state of the kitchen cupboards.

I have an irritating penchant for lists. And the lists that strike the fear of God into my husband are the annual 'to do' lists written, with a great deal of gravitas, in a rather nice Bookbinder's notebook.  They have the year as a heading and can be as sweeping as – 'build a new wall at the back of the house', to, you have guessed it, 'clean out kitchen cupboards'.

My husband feels that the very act of writing these lists passes the onus from my shoulders to his. I have done my bit you see – thinking about what needs to be done and writing it down. I do follow up, mind – I like putting a line through things when they have been completed.  And I have been known to retro fit. Something major accomplished that wasn't listed? No problem. Revisit the page and write and strikethrough all at the same time – very satisfying. But the cupboard cleaning, which has recurred through the lists of the last two years is now being dealt with and I am the (wo)man for the job.



This Saturday my daughter was ill in a sniffly, can't go to ballet, but can sit wrapped in a blanket watching TV sort of way and suddenly the wave of efficiency overwhelmed me and before I could give it proper thought I had gutted the cardboard box, wrapping paper, ribbon and card filled cupboard and sat on the floor with its content strewn around me.

My husband and I suffer from the same problem. 'This is a perfectly good, serviceable cardboard box', we say. And it genuinely seems such a shame just to throw it away. Into the cupboard it goes. That is why I was relieved when some had suffered setbacks from the nibbling of a small mouse, or were covered in cockroach pooh, and I could legitimately throw them out.

It is a slow process sifting through stuff – trying to be responsible but not a hoarder, to be ordered but not anal. At one point I caught myself sorting ribbons into 'good' and 'not so good' and realised I was being sucked into a time consuming vortex of 'over sorting' and had to stop and have a cheese toastie and a cup of tea.



The next cupboard was filled with a mix (and this is no lie) of party whistles, tins of lychees, assorted water bottles and a myriad of plastic take-away containers and far too many empty tubs, giving away quite how much baba ganoush our family consumes. This is easy – rationalise to four of each – and that includes the whistles - and Bob's your uncle.

I then tackle the mother of all cupboards - the one that has not been dealt with in all our 11 years in the house. The one stuffed with plastic bags, possibly 11 years worth, and everything including a small component for an ancient Volvo Estate circa 1987 (my husband still believes he will meet someone at a party, or at the side of the soccer field, they will fall into light conversation and it will be revealed that this component is the very thing they are looking for). There was a look of sadness as I threw it in the bin as his rational self, battled with his inner optimist.  Ditto a 'Gentle leader' DVD and puppy muzzle.



When this task was complete I led each child separately to the cupboard, eyes-closed, and then did the big reveal. Both the 16 year old and the 9 year old had the good grace to inhale sharply in what I took for sheer admiration. When friends came over that night for dinner I boasted about my activities and my sister-in-law pulled open a drawer.

'Not that one', I said hastily. For she had inadvertently opened the  'man drawer' so skillfully illustrated as part of comedian Michael McIntyre's stand up schtick. It is the place that houses the 3 old Nokia phones, a plastic ruler, some foreign currency, string, a dozen pens that don't work (but look to good to throw out) several hardened glue sticks and a Chinese electronic dictionary found on the roadside.

The 'man drawer' was a bridge too far. I will make a note to tackle it next year.

This story first appeared on the Homelife blog. Photos by Chris Court for Sibella Court (The Society Inc). Visit Sibella's Pinterest boards here.