Ouf. Off to bed in a minute after a fun Bank Holiday. Some people, doubtless, went to the coast, given that it was 27 degrees and blazing sunshine, but here the DH was working, so I felt morally obliged to do something useful about the place. 

We have been decluttering recently - something we always seem to feel the need to do in spring. The DH has been clearing out his studio (aka: junk room full of computer bits and whatnot), while I have been chucking out clothes. I bunged over 100 items in the latest bourse, and at the end of the bourse, took three binliners of clothing round to a friend's, whose daughter is knocking off work after having her baby and could do with a new wardrobe for free.  

Meanwhile, the DH has been screaming for more space in the living room, as he is sick of manoeuvring around furniture all the time (why, for heaven's sake, do we have a dining table that seats six, and four dining chairs, when we eat on our laps?), and I too am getting tired of what we own - furniture that is too heavy and cumbersome. I fancy, for instance, replacing our Queen Anne high-back dining chairs with indoor-outdoor stackable bistro-style chairs, so we can also use them in the garden.

Anyway, here's what I got done today:

* After chi kung (about which, the DH is being good as gold) and breakfast (an apple, as today is a fast day), I did some work, then had a bath.  

* We had a nice hour-long walk before lunch and then I had a rubbish stock-cube-soup and another apple.  

* I did three loads of washing and got it all dried outside in the sunshine.   

* Then I did the plastics recycling - two bin bags full. This is just a couple of weeks-worth, given that we don't have potable water so we drink 24 bottles of mineral water a week.  

* I took five bin bags of rubbish to the poubelles.  

* Then I started emptying our disgusting, full, white trash trailer and took another five bin bags to the poubelles. No more, because I ran out of bin liners. 

* Then I valeted the car, because the rubbish had leaked ick all over the boot and because we also need to take it to the garage to ask about a part-exchange. We have a lovely Citroen C5 estate, but it is way too big for our needs and I fancy downsizing to something like a C3 or a Clio. It's got to be a French car, in order to get parts and servicing, so sadly a Nissan Micra, a Kia or a VW are all out. 

* Then I cleaned out the Dust Buster, because it was full of car crap, mostly sand from Brittany.  

* Then I had a rest and a cup of rooibos, especially as I fell a couple of weeks ago and have a twisted ankle, bruised ribs and a bruised sternum, so am feeling a bit dire generally.

* Then I did some gardening - mostly just tidying up as I did a ton of dead-heading, pruning and planting at the weekend.  

* Then I did some work for an hour or two, and then went down to the ponds to read for a bit in the sun, but I couldn't concentrate, so I raked out algae instead.

* Then we came back up and had dinner (salad with bresaola and another fucking apple).

* Then I swept up the living room, packed up a bin liner of clothes for Emmaus, filled the car with boxes of books/old computer etc for charity, cleared the dining table of all the accumulated junk it's acquired while we've been decluttering, covered my wing chairs in freshly dyed clean sheets (I've gone for turquoise...) and moved all the furniture we're getting rid of into the dining-room half of the living room. Presto, tons more space. 

And now it appears to be night.  Oh la, another day bites the dust. But I did at least get to spend a lot of it outside today, and even inside, the doors and windows were wide open, with that amazing summer feel - birds singing, willows blowing. My ministrations mean that the car is beautifully clean (next stop, the car wash) and we now have uninterrupted space from the front French doors right across the room to the window opposite, which overlooks the hillside. This, I think, is the crucial view in the room and keeping it clear makes the place feel huge. 

A good day's work, then, so I can feel virtuous, and back to my desk tomorrow. And, thankfully, eating again...

The DH was away in England recently and while he was gone, I made some valiant efforts to get the house somewhat tidier. 

We are both messy people, and living with a dog and five cats doesn't help. With him, it's robot parts, bits of computer equipment and books. With me, it's clothes, hobbies like beading, and more books.

Add to that the fact that our surfaces are covered in mud on a daily basis, courtesty of our cat Rockwell, who sleeps on the living room buffet and drinks from the kitchen taps; the fact that at least one of the cats will be sick each day, and on a bad day there can be 6-7 lots of vomit to clean up; litter trays for the 18-year-olds (three of them); woodburners and the general filth of country life and it's quite a potent cocktail.

I lugged eight sacks of rubbish, eight sacks of recyling and seven sacks of charity stuff to the various depots over the course of the week, set up a 'station' for shredding paper; cleared a proper space in the office to work on my beading, and generally got the place looking pristine.  

I then decided to practise some better daily habits.

* Bring breakfast in on a tray so that I can carry it away easily afterwards and clear the crockery into the dishwasher.

* Plump the sofa cushions after breakfast.

* Keep the kitchen island unit clear (of catfood, crockery, stuff that hasn't been put away yet...) 

* Dry the bath after using it and hang the bathmat over the side so the floor is clear.

* After getting dressed, make the bed (which has been airing since we got up and by now has a sleeping cat on it).

* Keep all surfaces clear, especially the pine buffet that divides up our living room, and the coffee table (remotes are allowed).

* Vacuum the hearth, where there is always an ash spill.

* Spend 10 minutes tidying up after breakfast, lunch and dinner, to stop the mess from building up during the course of the day. When you work from home and cook all your meals from scratch, things can get pretty chaotic.

So far, it is working well. Walking into a clean, neat room whichever room it is, is raising my spirits, and - like exercise - doing housework in small tranches doesn't feel too burdensome - important when it takes an hour to vacuum our 70sqm living room. 

Which clothes in your wardrobe are you actually wearing? According to professional wardrobe organisers, the answer is surprisingly few - about 20 per cent. The remaining 80 per cent of our clothes hang there untouched.

For all kinds of reasons, it's very easy to end up with a wardrobe full of things you don't wear. But keeping clothes that don't do you sterling service is a mistake. You have to maintain them, you have to insure them, you have to store the damn things and be responsible for them.

If you're not sure about this concept, consider for a moment that every square inch of your house costs you money. Look at how much square footage of your precious property they are taking up. What is that worth to you in real terms? My house in rural France is worth 1,000 euros per square metre. In the South-East of England, your house might be worth £265 per SQUARE FOOT. Seriously, how much of that precious space do you want to devote to clothes?

Apart from creating extra space, working on the basis that every woman needs a wardrobe that actually works for her, sorting out the sheep from the goats among your clothing has other advantages.

* You will no longer have days when you have 'nothing to wear'.

* Everything in your wardrobe will fit and flatter you.

* Dressing in the morning will be easier and stress-free because, by and large, everything will go together.

Sort it out

Step one to discovering what works in your wardrobe and what doesn't, is to find out what you're actually wearing right now, and you'll probably have to do this at least twice (once for summer and once for winter, or even more if you divide your clothes by extra seasons). For this exercise, you'll need the following:

* A clothes rail. Place this in the spare room/adult child's room/anywhere dry and safe where your hangable clothes can be stored for a while.

* Two brightly coloured ribbons. Tie these at the right-hand end of the hanging rail in your wardrobe. They should be different colours and loose enough so that you can slide them up and down the rail.

* Two long wardrobe shelves, cleared of stuff, or two large cardboard boxes for storing foldable clothes. Label them 1 and 2.

Over the course of the next two weeks, whenever you wear a hangable garment, replace it on the rail to the right of the first ribbon, moving the ribbon along as necessary (wash or dry-clean garments as you go along, as you would normally, obviously - don't put them away dirty). Likewise, whenever you use a foldable item such as knickers, t-shirts, bras, jeans and so on, replace it on the first set-aside shelf, or in the first cardboard box.

If you find you use an item more than once, place it to the right of the second ribbon, or in the second box - these designate your 'frequently used items'.

After two weeks, take a look at the clothes that you've actually worn. Why are you wearing them? Chances are, they fulfil a number of criteria:

* They fit you.

* They're comfortable.

* They're practical for your lifestyle.

* You like them.

* They may also flatter you, though not necessarily - they may just be all you've got.

Now make some notes

1: If these clothes fit you, make a note of the size. If, in all honesty, they're too big or too small but you're wearing them because you have nothing else, give this step a miss.

2: If they're comfortable, ask yourself why - is there a generosity of cut, a particular length of sleeve, a height to the waistband that you favour? Are you looking at a coat with a shoulderline that goes over everything else or is the right length for the car? Are the knickers ones which actually hold your buttocks in place rather than cheese-wiring you into submission? If so, note it down so that you can duplicate these buys. For instance, I no longer wear short tees or vests - only long ones that don't come untucked when I bend or crouch.

3: If they're practical for your lifestyle, try to analyse why. Does the colour go with your other things? Is the fabric? Is it that they're patterned and don't show the dirt? Is it because they're easy to maintain? Two years ago, I switched all my foundation pieces to the colour navy, with occasional forays into black or charcoal. I lead a dirty life of dog walks, woodburners, gardening and cooking, and navy is a good, practical colour that doesn't show the muck but still feels quite smart. 

4: If you like them, again try to analyse why. Be specific - this blouse makes you feel sexy, this dress makes you look taller, you can run in these heels. Your particular likes and dislikes may be nothing to do with 'fashion'. 

5: If they flatter you, you'll know from other people's reactions as well as your own. Ask for guidance. Is this just the right neckline for you, for instance? Is the skirt length just right for showing off your calves? Does the colour make your complexion sing? Define exactly what it is that's flattering about this garment and reproduce it.

Now list each of the five categories above, so that you can give the rest of your clothing a score out of five.

Finally, take all the clothes you didn't wear out of the wardrobe and hang them on the rail in the spare room. Ditto with the folding clothes you didn't wear. Store them on the spare bed for now, or swap over your cardboard boxes and put those in the spare room. These unworn clothes now have a two-week reprieve before you analyse their wardrobe value and consider getting shot of them. You might be surprised at how few trips you actually make to that spare room.

I don't know what it is about spring, but whenever it comes around and the light begins to stream into the house, I feel the need to declutter. 

I am not one for setting myself goals - I don't believe in them, as they detract from the immediacy of life - but I am starting by trying to get rid of 10 per cent of everything I own. That's 10 per cent of everything: kitchen equipment, clothes, books, ornaments, glassware, crockery, paperwork, letters and diaries, photographs, CDs, DVDs, magazines, makeup, jewellery... 

Once I've jettisoned 10 per cent, I intend to do another 10 per cent, then another, then another, in the hopes - eventually - of shedding the 80 per cent of stuff I hardly ever use and keeping the 20 per cent that I do.

I don't expect it'll get that far, of course. In fact I'll be lucky to get to 50 per cent. Even 30 per cent would be a surprise. I am a natural hoarder, and I love collecting: vintage clothes, fabric, beads, kimonos. You name it, if I like it, I've collected it. But there also comes a point when you have to say enough is enough. In fact, enough is too much - the house is bursting at the seams. 

I loved it here when all we had was two deckchairs and I could ride my bike round the living room. And although that has to change, of course, as one settles into a a place, there is really no need to have all these tables and chairs hanging around. I can't remember the last time we had a dinner party - drinks are far more likely - and I'd really rather not have to squeeze between furniture.  

Our late, great friend, Guy had an office so crowded there was literally no floor space. You had to squeeze your way between mounds of papers, journals, press releases, review kit and endless bits and bobs. I do not want to end up like this, because the stupid thing about my being a hoarder is that I also value my space.

Every square metre of this house is worth about 1,000 euros - that's a lot of money tied up in cardboard boxes full of crap that 'I might use one day'. There needs to be a better balance between my minimalist intellect and my Squirrel Nutkin soul. 

Getting rid of things can be painful, but I do not intend to beat myself up about this. It's best to start small, so I began last night with the books on our mezzanine. A quick eye-count told me that there were about 1,000 books up there, so divide by two and that gives me 500 books. That's 50 books to get rid of, and that, dear reader, took me a full 15 minutes.

Rather a shocker, huh? I thought it would take hours as I pondered over every volume. I didn't realise there were so many books up there that I didn't value. But realistically, I won't read all those Ruth Rendells again. Nor do I want to keep the reference books I used when writing about office politics or over-35 pregnancy. Some of the health books were rubbish, and I hardly need the 2006 Rough Guide to Spain. Having a Kindle removes any need to define yourself to others from the books you're reading, and in any case, our mezzanine is a private area where visitors are rarely invited. 

So, out they go, to Cancer Support France, a charity that supports English speakers in France when they are diagnosed with cancer (not the out-of-date guidebook, obviously - that is being burned as we speak).  And in, in their stead, comes glorious, wonderful space - clear surfaces and long sight lines. 

Clothes will be a more difficult enterprise, as they are my real weakness, but I think I'm going to rather enjoy chucking much of the kitchen equipment (deep fat fryer, anyone?), the garage gear and the paperwork. 

Well, on verra. Watch this space.  

I found another article here on decluttering.

These are always worth a read, especially at this time of year when you suddenly get the urge to throw everything out. 

I'm not sure that it really has anything dramatically new to say, butit has some advice that is worth repeating, such as: "You don't have to be ruthless, but you do need to be dispassionate. Don't feel guilty about getting rid of something just because somebody gave it to you, or you spent a lot of money on it."

Harder said than done when you're a tightwad, of course. And the DH just a couple of weeks ago found a use for some things I sold two years ago - oops. 

More important perhaps is the link to Terence Conran's page on decluttering (I like the pictures here - it's how I fondly imagine I would live if I actually had some organisation and no cats). Although, again, the advice is familiar, one phrase did strike me:

"Anything that you are keeping on the off chance that it might either come in useful or become valuable one day. What is more useful and more valuable is the space that it is occupying"

Aha. Space is indeed useful and valuable, especially in Britain, where people live in the smallest houses in Europe, on the smallest plots of land. For instance, few people can really afford luxuries like a spare bedroom any more - far better to put a clic-clack in the dining room and turn the spare room into an ensuite - at least that way you get to actually use it. 

Maybe what we all need is gigantic lockups to put all our junk in, then when we're dead, all our rellies can come round and exclaim at the crap - or, as I did last night - cry out in wonder at the rackds of vintage clothing batty-as-a-fruitcake Cornelia Bailey had managed to amass in her Jacobean pile in Country House Rescue. I would have given my eye teeth to trawl through those two rooms, I tell you what...