I am in full-on, aggressive Marie Kondo mode at the moment. I’ve had a realisation that I am on the brink of being a hoarder, so as a result I’m going full throttle in the opposite direction. Nothing — I repeat, nothing! — will be allowed on my dressing table or around my basin. You should see how crammed it is next to the tap; it’s in a perpetual state of rush-hour hecticness. I need to enforce some serious social-distancing rules. Every morning when I wash my face I knock things off — and I don’t even use most of them. They are there “just in case”, says the fledgling hoarder in me.
Going forward I have a new rule: the only things that will