Quote from Marie Kondo: ‘I’m so excited because I love mess.’
Her aim is ‘to spark joy in the world.’
Bless her cotton socks, which of course will be super-white with perfect folds and no creases. I wonder if she irons them?.


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Once upon a time, a beautiful Princess left her kingdom to go out into the world. By royal decree, she was given the task of eliminating mess from homes and sparking joy.

Marie Kondo, princess of Tidy Kingdom, entered our world. The princess of the perfect fold, the elite of neat, and the aficionado of socks and general mess. The petite pretty princess, visited the homes of your average family, people who have no time to primp and pleat or seemingly even tidy. She entered with glee saying: ‘I’m so excited because I love mess.’

Personally, I would be insulted if anyone entering my home said that to me, but these people welcomed her and hugged her with delight. Didn’t they realize their parents would be mortified to see their offspring’s very untidy homes on TV, and courtesy of Netflix with universal coverage?

When someone phones to say they’re popping in, isn’t it the norm to frantically run around trying to tidy up, shoving papers and smelly socks under cushions, not forgetting that two day old crusty-congealed dinner plate and mouldy mug. ‘PUT THAT IN THE SINK, YOU TWIT. NOT UNDER THE CUSHION’. However, these people are brave, a lot braver than I am.

She tinkles and twinkles: ‘I would like to greet your house. Greeting house is very important to me.’ She proceeds to sit elegantly on the floor, hands clasped, eyes closed. A precious quiet moment that unhinges the homeowners who are clearly very emotional, with tears in their eyes. (Does she not realize she’s kneeling on dried baby sick or is it dog turd?). Then, she unclasps her hands and bows. Now, that is mindfulness in action. If I could do that with such aplomb and elegance, I too would be on YouTube.


tea towels

Now the work begins. She shows them how to colour-code and tidy and re-organize. Encourages them to talk to the clothing or any favourite pieces of tat. I’m more of a ‘shit that doesn’t fit me anymore’ kinda gal. However, these glowing people incandescent in Princess Marie’s aura OBEY, or henceforth they will be banished from her kingdom, or even worse portrayed in all their squalor on TV.

They have built a mountain of clothes. They have sweated and wept as they discarded. Closets are no longer exploding. Socks are in pairs, in perfect symmetry. Their eyes are glazed from exhaustion after the monumental task of decluttering. Wonder what their attic is like? Check it out, Marie. They have lied to you and everything has been STORED there. Have you noticed that she checks out the garage, but not the attic?

I folded and pleated and talked nicely to my clothing, the occasional expletive, as exhaustion set in after fifteen minutes. I created row upon row of colour-coordinated (faded) t-shirts and shrunken sweaters. (Reminder to self. Use wool-wash setting). I tri-folded jeans, folded socks excitedly in pairs and rows.

(More in three’s than pairs.) Lovingly, I said goodbye fondly to items, even the ‘why the hell did I keep that?’ Too much STUFF unworn for over ten years, dated, sad, and I’m not even sure if half of it was mine. Must find a new dry cleaner. I am so not a size 6, or did they shrink my clothes? So just in case, I MIGHT wear it, I shoved all of it into an industrial-strength- rubbish bag. (I always have them, (honestly) and stored it all in the attic.


Someone is knocking on the door. Shit! The princess is here! Wowzer! She has read my blog. I grabbed the last bundle of clothing and shoved it into a kitchen cupboard, cleverly concealing it with tins of beans.
My sock drawer is a vision of loveliness. Truth. My sock drawer is semi-neat, and I still haven’t solved the ‘missing sock mystery’, which is why I’m wearing one red sock and one pink-tinged white one.

Princess Marie enters. She tuts and frowns and shakes her head in dismay. She goes into MY kitchen without an invitation and I panic. I shove her out of the way and stand strong, my back against a bulging cupboard door. She glares at me. Where has all her charm and kindness gone? She somersaults, karate-chops me (ouch, that hurt), and slams-dunks me away with such force, I’m catapulted headfirst into the scummy overflowing kitchen sink. (I didn’t have time to clean it.

Honestly). She opens the cupboard door and tins of beans bounce off her head with a crescendo of guffaws from the camera crew. She berates me and although I don’t understand Japanese, she’s clearly angry. Whoever knew that this petite-pretty-princess was such a force of nature. Now, therein lies a new TV programme. The Princess, Marie Kondo people who cannot be Konomaried.

Move over, Barbs. Marie Kondo is much more beautiful than you, with a lovely figure. She is real. (I will eat my smelly socks if this isn’t true). Not with huge boobs that block out the sunshine. That’s why Barbs looks so miserable, plus the backache they give her. Plus, a freaky tiny waist and legs out of proportion. So, don’t buy your little one’s a dog for Christmas. Buy them a Princess Marie Kondo doll, preferably one that does all the housework.


Does this letter sound dodgy to you? Am I BEAN Konned?
I won’t bore you with the rest of the details. Suffice to say I ‘m now the Queen of Neat.

I adore Marie Kondo and I’m an avid follower. If you haven’t watched this series, make yourself a cup of tea, switch on the TV, park your posterior on the couch, relax and enjoy the Marie Kondo experience.
Spark joy in your world today! Have a KonMari day!

What Marie Kondos House looks like

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