It could be the new year. It could be that Marie Kondo series on Netflix. It could be simply that I am SICK of living in a sh*thole but all I want from life. Is simply. To have a nice house. That's all. A. Nice. House. OK I'm lying. I really want a super instagrammable pad of epic proportions but I am self aware enough to know that is a miracle that will not happen. I just want a house that is kinda tidy. Looks half decent and when my kids reflect on their childhood home they will go "Oh Mum loved to keep a nice house". Which is true. I do. But the other sods that live in it do not.

I seem to spend my life in a permanent state of 'tidy'. I have spent more hours than I care to remember thinking about storage. And buying storage. Each time thinking that this will be the box, tub, container that CHANGES MY LIFE. I've tried them all. Things that hang down. Things that you stack up. Things that vacuum pack. And for the ten minutes after I have used said storage. I feel at peace. Until I pop into my son's bedroom, see he has drawn all over his rug and that my little girl has a green patch (bogie? slime? who knows?) right next to her head on the wall.

No. Marie Kondo. This spoon brings me nothing BUT GOD DAMN ANGER

I lose count over the times I have tried to encourage my husband to get on board with my endeavour. We even popped to Ikea at the weekend. By popped we were there for what seemed like DAAAAYYYSSSSSSS and had a small row as he got himself some Daim bar cheesecake and not me. I want a new kitchen. To fill with fancy new storage that is going to fit right in my fancy new nice house which will BE REALLY NICE OK???! During the whole process he looked bored to tears bar the bit where he chose a tap as you could move the faucet and I quote "I can splash the kids in the kitchen". The Ikea lady looked and me with sympathy. 

I buy nice pillows for the couch. They end up as trampolines at around 4:35pm when everyone is losing there sh*t after the school run. I buy a nice blanket to lay serenely on the end of my bed in millennial pink and the dog vomits on it. I go into the bathroom AND FIND A FOOKING SPOON ON THE SEAT. So what my friends is the solution. Do I give up and think to myself "hey I don't really remember much about the house I grew up. It was filled with love rather than fancy furniture". Whilst this is all very lovely and totally true. Of course my kids won't remember fancy pillows and posh blankets...

...but the thing is. I bloody will. So this is just a blog post to inform you of one woman's pointless and relentless journey to make her house nice. You may see my lugging plastic boxes in Home Bargains. Or picking up some vacuum pack bags in Dunelm Mill. Eyes glinting. Full of hope. If I smile at you. Smile back and don't remind me of the bogie slime or the toilet lid spoon. Let me have my five minutes of believing. That I too can have a nice house. 
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