My problem is clutter. Particularly hoarding stuff I no longer need or use.
As I sit here gazing at my keyboard, markedly saturnine as I probe my inner muse, my eyes flit towards the paragon of disorder that is my desk. Strewn across its dishevelled faux-veneer is a treasure trove of trinkets and knick-knacks; each as worthless as the next and yet just as useful as the last.

There, amongst the elderly mobile phones, blank optical media, USB leads, stationery, bootlaces and the charger for an iPod Shuffle is the pretender. An extraneous plastic card entitling me to membership to the RAC. A trivial orange plastic rectangle which is utterly useless as I had let the subscription lapse - a risky gamble when driving a charabanc such as mine. Scrutinising this piddling token of vehicle recovery entitlement is the most jarring of errors. It grates my eyes much like the number seven to someone who is learning 'pi' to only twelve decimal places.

The RAC have spelt my surname incorrectly. The bastards
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 26 Mar 2010, 9:25, 3 replies)

If you ditch the RAC card...
You WILL break down (well, you or the car will anyway).

As for the rest of the treasures - my lounge was similar until I finally made my third bedroom into my office/workroom - now that contains all the computer parts, leads, discs etc...
( snee held his breath since, Fri 26 Mar 2010, 9:56, closed)

The thing is, I'm not even a member of the RAC anymore and haven't been for almost a year
I wish I had the luxury of a spare room, though I suspect it would be piled high with tat.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 26 Mar 2010, 10:00, closed)

When I get home
I'll take a picture of the room...
( snee held his breath since, Fri 26 Mar 2010, 10:26, closed)