Talk To One Of These Professional Organisers

Have you ever felt like you were drowning in your things? Trust me – I’ve been there, in fact if it wasn’t for the help of a certain celebrity organiser I probably would have never realised that my feelings of helplessness and despair were more related to my lack of organisation, than any serious problem with how my life was panning out.

I’ve always been a bit of a hoarder. I say ‘bit of’ because I’ve never reached the point where I can’t get to the front door, but there’s certainly been points in my life where I’ve struggled to wade my way through to my bedroom door. Whether I’ve been snowed under with work, falling behind on my laundry or simply feeling lazy, there has been points in my life when I’ve been buried by my things.

I reached such a crisis point last year when I spent a full hour looking for a date outfit. Something needed to change and that was when I started watching Marie Kondo’s fantastic new show on Netflix. OK, so I might have procrastinated doing the decluttering until I’d finished bingeing the entire series – but, once I got round to actually getting rid of stuff, I started to feel so much better about myself.

I had to rely on Netflix and my own chutzpah to get the job done, but if you’ve got a bit more cash to spare then you can hire one of these professional organisers to help you out:

You Need A Vicky

Vicky Silverthorn is one of the better known people in the field of organisers. She’s done it all, written a book, started a company and even appeared on Good Morning – but despite all of this success, she’s still an organiser at heart. Her team will happily tackle everything from wardrobes to offices, there’s no job too big for You Need A Vicky!

Declutter with Chloe

Chloe takes an environmentally friendly approach to her job as a professional declutterer, she encourages all clients to recycle as much as possible and travels to all her appointments by electric car – an admirable attempt at zero-carbon business! Chloe transforms wardrobes, helps folk prepare for moving and can even talk to your teenager about owning and retaining control over their own spaces (quite the task!).

Catriona Watson

Based in Oxford, Catriona runs Clear Space For Me, helping people make their most of their homes by creating effective living spaces that are light on clutter. She believes in creating a holistic, safe environment with her clients leading the change, rather than forcing any decisions. She offers a range of services including workshops for declutterers or in need of a gentle nudge in the right direction.

Mardi Girl

In her own words, Mardi Girl helps people to ‘say goodbye to things they don’t need by some simple, practical changes’. Like all the professional organiser mentioned here, she’s an advocate for client-led change and understands that the things that we hold onto are often representative of our life story, which makes them so difficult to let go of.

Let me know if you’ve decided to contact one of these professional organiser, or if you’ve taken the plunge to do it yourself!

I’m Sorry, How Powerful?

My collection of sex toys is probably something that I’ll take with me to my grave (figuratively speaking, of course). I’m not one of those bloggers who sees her selection of intimate sex toys as a ‘content creation’ opportunity. Indeed, although I’m proud to call myself a sex positive writer, I’m by no means an exhibitionist.

With that being said, I have thought that it might be a good idea for me to share my first experience of the kinky side of London, which endeared me so much to the city in my first year.

Kinks are not something that many people are familiar with at a young age.

They’re rarely covered in your conventional sex-education classes and, unless you happen to have stumbled into a particularly dark corner of the internet, you would be forgiven for being unaware that they even exist. Having a particularly secluded childhood, it wasn’t until I left home for the first time that I discovered the heady worlds of sex toys and pornography.

My parents quite happily helped me pack my bags and sent me on my way to London back in 2008. They felt that they’d raised me right: they’d taught me to eat my vegetables, steered me away from drugs and were perfectly happy pushing me out the door and into a brave new world, without a fear that I might stray from the righteous path.

Of course, how were they to know that I was to be thrust into an alien world, full of strange people who had seen and experienced far more sexual oddities than either of them could conceive?

They weren’t to know that my room-mate was a raving sex toy enthusiast with a penchant for sharing. They probably didn’t expect me to miss my home so much, to the point where I was willing to experiment with these toys in order to bring myself some sort of solace. But that’s more or less what happened.

Jessica claimed to have a collection of the most powerful sex toys known to man. There might have been some fabrication on her part, but in my youthful naivete I found all of them to be quite arresting, so much so that I was willing to believe her. In the first weeks of university, we happily played together, ignoring the gaudy pre-organised ‘Freshers’ nights out and opting to educate each other on our lives thus far, amidst binge-watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

It didn’t take long for our new found mutual interests to start breaking out of our bedroom. Bolstered by each other’s newfound boldness, we decked ourselves in 90s era faux-leather get ups that Buffy would be proud of and headed out into the seedy London nightclub scene. Ten years ago, London’s alternative clubbing scene was still alive and well; yet to be ruined by the ever encroaching gentrification of the world. We relished prancing through the S&M warehouses, the notorious gay clubs and hardcore dance nights.

We were quite happy to discover that two barely 19-year old girls were welcome pretty much anywhere they wanted to go – they were golden years, and ones that I never told my parents about.

Lyon to London: My Spiritual Journey

Making the decision to move from France to the UK was not one that I took lightly. I’d not assumed that it would be easy, but I felt that, equipped as I was with my command of the English language and a suitcase full of clothes (that I was soon to find were hopelessly outdated), I’d be able to find my way through the romantic streets of London that I was soon destined for.

Despite having spent many holidays in the UK, I’d not yet had the chance to visit London, so in my head the city was an amalgam of movie cliches and stereotypes – imperfectly jammed and unlikely to ever exist in reality. It didn’t matter. The London that I eventually got to know would become a much grander, deeper, seductive place than I had ever seen depicted in the movies.

I knew that when I’d made the decision to study in London that I’d probably make a few friends and get a degree, but what I didn’t see coming was the sexual awakening and fascination that would be borne within me within just a few weeks of my arrival.

Us French are somewhat idolised and vilified in equal measure here in the UK. I soon grew to understand this odd dichotomy that had existed for decades, partially as a result of outdated sitcoms and the fallout from World War II. On the one hand we are sex objects, applauded for our seductive accents and sensuous appeal. On the other hand, we’re a traitorous breed of cowards with arty-pretensions and appalling taste in clothes.

Although I was made aware of these odd cliches that somehow still existed in the 21st Century, they didn’t have as big an effect on me as I’d expected them to in London.

It’s hard to claim that a city has ‘adopted’ you when you’re talking about a city with around 8.1 million people living, working, learning and hustling in this impossibly busy mega-city; however I can say that I certainly felt embraced by the culture that I found through a series of exciting, risque encounters.

British people might well attribute us French with erotic qualities, the truth is that we are no more promiscuous than any other European people. We all have our first times, we’re all nervous and we all have (varying) emotions when it comes to how we feel about our bodies. Although I was by no means a virgin when I arrived on the shores of the UK, I still considered myself somewhat prim and proper, needless to say that was all to change within a few weeks.

My design school was one that I’d waiting months for a reply from. Gaining entry into it was the first true test of my abilities and once I found out that I’d got in, I was over the moon. I’d proved myself worthy to join the legion of hungry, young designers who were all jostling for attention in the Big Smoke.

All that jostling was to prove to be the catalyst for something much grander and seductive than I’d ever expected…