When I got home from my play-reading group last week (such a good night, must write more about it), I found lined up on the dresser what appears to be John's domestic string collection. I say domestic because I know for a fact that there is more in the allotment shed, including some beautiful red string he procured at the Garden Museum, and, no doubt, yet more in his various hiding places at work. He says he was looking for a connector for the bike pump but once he started to investigate the gulag on top of the cupboard, discovered he had collected more string than he realised. I point this out not to mock but to demonstrate the irresistibility of yarny things that come in a package of neatly wound comforting roundness.
I happen to be one of those people that finds it hard to throw away leftover string or, come to that, anything that isn't very obviously rubbish. But increasingly I am itching to minimise the amount of clutter in my house. Deciding on a minimal Christmas, then seeing the exhibition of John Pawson's work at the Design Museum and the film Of Gods and Men, beautifully located in a spartan rural monastery in Morocco, amplified the attractions of a clutter-free existence. So until I manage a purge of sufficient force to actually get rid of some of the matter round here, I'm adopting my own attempt at supersymmetry - one in, one out.
That's the theory. If anyone has any more practical advice, I'd love to hear it.