Hoarder's horrors

It's not news to anyone who knows me that I hoard. Not in the newspapers stacked up piles all around the house sense, more in the "oh I can't throw this dress/teapot/book/pair of shoes out because it might be exactly what I'm looking for one day and besides it's really cute" way. So the arrival of a skip for our mammoth decluttering effort was met with mixed emotion.

Mr Puddleduck also greeted it with mixed emotion. Not because he doesn't like a good old-fashioned tidy out, but because he knew that the lion's share of the 'skipping' would rest with him. This is primarily his own fault as he is a little finicky (understatement of the year) when it comes to how things should be arranged in the skip. Essentially, he likes things stacked neatly whereas I adopt a more 'toss it over the side and leave it where it lands' approach. According to him my approach is simply not to be borne and therefore Mr Puddleduck is left in charge. With the odd helpful suggestion thrown in by Puddleduck and I from our peanut gallery of two.

Puddleduck greeted the arrival of the skip with unabashed glee. Until she saw some of her old and beaten up things being neatly arranged in there by Daddy. Then she launched a rescue mission (just in case there was any doubt she was her Mummy's daughter). Things went in, things came straight back out again. They went back in and with even more determination they were toddled right back out again. In the interests of family harmony and keeping his blood pressure within an acceptable range, Mr Puddleduck abandoned any further attempts until Puddleduck and I were safely packed off to swimming lessons. When we got home he thanked Puddleduck for getting me out of his hair - apparently my incessant toddling in and out of the skip rescuing her toys was terribly counterproductive!