Orna Mulcahy on people we all know
Fiona's glee at having got the last jewel-scattered peasant skirt in the Warehouse sale is a little dimmed when she tries it on at home and realises that it's very like one she still has from 1995, and not unlike another at the back of the wardrobe from 1985 that surely must qualify as vintage. Trying on all three, she remembers that the peasant look is not quite her, which is pity. Maybe it's time for a cull.
Actually, Fiona needs to take a hard hat and a shovel to her bedroom, where the clutter has reached epic proportions. The Christmas intake has pushed the boudoir chic look over the edge, and frankly it's a mess. The mantelpiece is overflowing with cards and curly old invitations, half-burned candles, various jars of gunk and bowls of her own pot-pourri, jewellery, keys, old money, broken sunglasses and buttons in little packets. Then of course there are Rambo's ashes. Is it really five years since he was run over? The air is a battle zone between Jo Malone and Diptyque, with sinuses losing out all round. A strappy dress has slithered down into the corner, and there are tights hither and yon.
There are so many scatter cushions on the bed it's hell to sleep in and God knows how much fluff-covered stuff has drifted down to ground level. Don't look down, it's all a little dingy and Miss Havisham-like under there, what with her basket collection and old photographs taking up so much space. There were chairs, but they've disappeared under mounds of clothes, and everything pointy, including the curtain poles, has a handbag hanging from it.
Enough. Fiona feels a real drive to organise for 2005. She is going to learn how to let go. She will deal with her attachment issues and then start over with a clean space, painted Jasmine White. The charity shop beckons, but it's so hard. Everything means something, or might come in handy one day. Shoulder pads may well make a comeback, and Fintan gave her that teddy bear brooch in 1989. Even the crippling dominatrix shoes (down from £400 to £50! Prada! You couldn't leave them!) might come in handy one day.
Then there are the books. Books furnish a room, and one day, Fiona's will, when she can get them out of the 12 cardboard boxes and up onto some shelves. If only the cupboard under the stairs wasn't full of rogue kitchen equipment, the books could go in there, temporarily, but as it is, it's jammers. Which didn't stop her buying a new blender that came with at least 60 different bits of plastic. It has a home for now on the bottom shelf of the cooker, which is fine because she doesn't actually use that particular one for cooking. It takes a while, but Fiona eventually manages to fill a small box for charity. It's all quite draining and emotional. Now if only she could get rid of mental baggage.