For this blog post I thought I would share a short piece entitled, ‘The Room’:

I step inside. The faint smell of stale body odour still lingers in the air. I almost trip on a pile of discarded clothes and push them to one side with my foot. Then I clear a pathway through the rubble as I trudge across the room. So many memories, so many years.

The décor is outdated. I recall how resistant you were to change, or was it just the inconvenience of it all? So we agreed to live with it for now. After all, who sees the upstairs anyway? And some things just aren’t worth arguing about. Looking at it now, devoid of your personality, the clichéd borders make me cringe with embarrassment. They seem incongruous with the rock star posters.

The TV and games console remain in the corner. Both latest models; they act like a beacon against a murky backdrop. In the other corner are your guitars, lined up on a rack. I have a vision of you strumming away; you love your music.

I stand over your desk peering through your knick-knacks. Each one has its own tale; favourite books, a keyring and a passport sized photograph. I’m surprised you’ve still got the Easter egg I bought you. Your eclectic taste in books amuses me: Terry Pratchett’s ‘Night Watch’ alongside ‘Medical Embryology’ and ‘Help, I’m Trapped in my Duvet’.

Then I spot the messy bed. Oh my God! There’s still an imprint of you amongst the muddled up bedding. It almost reduces me to tears.

‘Come on, get a grip,’ I tell myself, ‘This room won’t sort itself.’ So I set to work. I’m determined to tidy so the room can be freshly decorated. Only a few weeks now till you return on your university holidays.

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This short piece is actually based on my son’s room but it was inspired by thoughts of my daughter leaving home to go to university. She’s my youngest and I’m afraid I’ve got a severe case of empty nest syndrome at the moment.

I based this short piece on my son’s room because it’s usually the messiest. I was standing in his bedroom looking around on a Monday morning after he had returned to university, picking up his dirty washing, as you do. Then I began thinking about what it would be like when my daughter left home.

However, I wrote this a few weeks ago and, credit where credit’s due, he got his act together and had a good clear out so that we could redecorate. So now it’s down to me. Once I’ve launched my novel, I’m out of excuses, and it’s on with the dreaded decorating. Oh how I hate all the disruption, but those bedrooms have got to be tackled.

I must add that my kids’ bedrooms are in no way a reflection of the rest of my home. Unlike my kids I am very tidy and organised. After years of trying to get them to keep their rooms tidy, and failing miserably, I’ve found the best way to deal with the problem is just to shut the bedroom doors.

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