A ferret fancier knocked on my door the other day. He’d come to collect a cat box I’d offered on the local recycling website. Obviously, I assumed someone with an actual cat as opposed to a polecat, would be after it, but the new owner assured me it was perfect for weaselly transportation. I even managed to offload a couple of pet bowls on him too, though I’ve no idea what stoats and suchlike scoff. 

This was just days after some burly blokes carted my old sofa out of the lounge and down the road to number 32. Our maroon leather monstrosity had had a good innings, costing just £100 from a girl at work eight years ago. I also wanted shut of our faded orange 2-seater but the teenagers claimed it for the basement. A good idea in theory, but getting the thing down there involved an axe and a lot of jeffing.  

Since joining this freecycle site, I’ve picked up as much as I’ve dumped. It’s strangely addictive. Storage boxes, paperbacks, a bedside lamp and most recently, four gorgeous earthenware pots have made their way into my home. But there’s some right tat on there too. Who’d want a batch of greying, third-hand reusable organic nappies? They looked rash-inducing at best. Someone else had offered up a selection of old plastic cordial bottles without lids. There’s a council bin for that. 

My general clear out and spruce up is predictably spring-based. I’m sick to the back teeth of my own furnishings having spent the last 365 days in too close contact with them. Plus, I’m starting a new ghostwriting project soon, so I want my homeworking surroundings to be serene. The desk has been treated to a new tablecloth and my laptop has even had a once-over with a wet wipe. I’ve probably overdone it on the house plants though – just how many Yucca’s does a girl need?  

I blame it on pop-up ads. I only searched ‘aspidistra’ once and now everything I browse is bombarded by succulents and rattan swing seats. It doesn’t help that I’m so suggestible. A single feature on velvet cushions can lure me into hours of clicking on velour throws. A quick flash of an antique rug and I’m in a Turkish wormhole booking a villa in Bodrum. The problem with online shopping is there’s no closing time. No urgency to proceed to checkout number three please before the shutters descend.  

What I’m really craving is a couple of hours in TK Maxx. I want to try on floaty skirts and strappy sandals. I need a mooch along the mug aisle, a flip through racks of bathmats I’ve no intention of buying and the chance to seriously consider whether brazil nuts coated in cocoa powder are worth the risk. The re-opening of non-essential shops cannot come soon enough. Honestly, I’m only days away from Googling ferret food just for kicks - and I dread to think what ads would be triggered by that.