The Dervish in the Toy Cupboard

I am like a woman possessed. Correction: I am a woman possessed. The amahs are tip-toeing about, lying low and, I suspect, although I don’t speak Tagalog, muttering to each other, “Keep your head down, she’s off on one!”

This morning we overslept. In the fifteen minutes that were left to get the boys up, dressed, breakfasted, packed up and out I discovered a pile of dolls’ cooking accessories and 9 birthday cards stuffed in the Chinese armoire and a paint box, complete with brush and water, tucked in amongst the shoes. I didn’t find the school form that I was searching for and nor did I find the Egyptian sundial we made out of a Shreddies packet which the ten year old needed for Science today. Should I be surprised? It’s probably been thrown away. Toys are rubbish and rubbish make toys in this house. Who can tell the difference?

Clearly it was time to act, time to grasp the principles of Feng Shui and clear the clutter. “Clutter is fear.” I read recently, “Shed your clutter and you will lose weight and attract romance and money.” Not sure what my husband would think of me attracting romance but I’m sure he’d welcome a bit of financial assistance. I asked the amahs not to use the cupboard as a residual dump for every letter, toy, unfinished painting, half-burnt candle and discarded piece of wrapping paper they find in the living room and set about putting things back in their proper places.

Before we left London I spent six months preparing for the mother of all moves. Like a swirling dervish I went through cupboards and drawers, the cellar, the shed. Consumed by a need to turn out and declutter, nothing was safe: clothes, books, toys, kitchenware and pictures all got the same treatment. Even my husband began to fear for his safety. I was spotted selling at car boot sales, lugging armfuls of stuff to the Oxfam shop, unloading rubbish at the dump.

Thus we arrived in Hong Kong. Having supervised the packing and unpacking myself I felt thoroughly in control. I had the overview and everything had its place. That was last summer. Since then Christmas and three birthdays have come our way, we’ve been here seven months during four of which the amahs have been busy putting things away in the wrong places.

And so I find myself in the Little-Ones’ room with handfuls of puzzle bits, Playmo weapons, dolls’ cooking utensils, games counters and take a good look round. Sorting the kids’ toys is something you can’t do by halves, well, this obsessive compulsive disordered person can’t anyway.

I am on my knees. I spot Playmo police in the Romans box, Vikings are fraternising with the ambulance men. It all has to come out. There is Lego in the Brio, I empty both baskets. Puzzles may be incomplete; I do them to make sure they’re not. Balls go in one box, animals in another. Stray chess pawns are returned to their comrades. The naked dolls have their dignity and rightful clothes restored to them. Fairies are removed from the knights and put back in their toadstool house. Soft toys go here, cars in there. I replace batteries, repair what I can and bin what I can’t. Do we really need 8 fluffy topped pens? Do children too young to carry keys have to have all these key rings? Where does all this plastic Chinese tat come from anyway?

I busy myself for an hour and a half and then survey my work. The room looks no different. It wasn’t really untidy in the first place but it was the internal untidiness that was bothering me. So what have I actually achieved this morning? Now, for a few days at most, everyone will be able to find exactly what they are looking for in this room by which time it will all be muddled up again. A therapist once pointed out to me that my constant need to clear out was closely related to a history of eating disorders: purge your house, purge yourself. Perhaps she’d read the same article on Feng Shui. I don’t know if I buy it but I will admit it makes me feel better to think the pirates are not socialising with the princesses.

No, if I’m honest I know that this sudden urge to purge actually has more to do with not getting on with whatever it is I’m avoiding. It’s like folding your sweaters when you should be doing your tax return. But in the meantime the big boys’ room beckons, as does the TV room and the children’s clothes, some no doubt outgrown, are winking at me from the drawers.