I am a big believer in minimalism. I subscribe to the idea that stuff does not make you happy. That a full calendar distracts from the joy of experiencing the quiet moments of your life. That narrowing things down to the essentials makes life less stressful. With less possessions there is less to organise, to keep clean, to do.
But there is a but…
I have been known to take things too far. I’m not saying that we have one plate, one cup and a sharpened spoon each but there have been times where I would have done that if I could. It all came to a head yesterday when the beloved husband opened a cupboard to get a bowl and I burst into tears at the beauty of the champagne saucers we have but don’t use because I thought it was frivolous. I am, as we have already covered, a pigging eejit.
I like nice things. I think that serving food on good plates makes the experience better. I don’t mean fancy or expensive. I mean suited to the purpose, nice to hold and that make you happy. I love a proper tea cup every now and again. I think cake needs a cake fork. I do! And I binned mine because they were unnecessary.
Oh good Lord! What Puritanical hogwash have I turned minimalism into? The desire for self punishment and denial has taken over the sensible ideas of only use what you need and love and turned into sit in a corner with gruel and make sure you don’t take up too much floorboard space. Enough.
I’m ordering new tea cups, asking for cake forks for Christmas and toasting my new attitude with Ribena in a champagne saucer.