‘I admit it’ , she said, ‘ I am a hoarder’ .
‘We are concerned about your safety’, said the officer. ‘I have to tell you that, unless you clear up, your home is at risk’.
She closed the door as he left, and thought about what he had said. ‘this is my home’ she thought. ‘But everything I have means something, I love all my nic nacks, my ornaments’.
Reluctantly she started to look through her things, ‘this is the glass cat with the fish, nan gave it me, what shall I do?’
The knock on the door a fortnight later jarred her out of her reverie. ‘who is it?’, ‘your housing officer’ came the reply.
‘Go Away!’ she shouted. ‘I don’t want to see you!’
‘I’m afraid you must. I have a notice of seeking possession here if you won’t work with me!’
‘Work with you? All you did was come round and tell me off!’
‘anyway’ she said ‘I’m buying the house’.
The officer was confused. ‘What do you mean?’ he shouted through the letterbox.
‘My nans glass cat! – turns out it belonged to someone famous, priceless, they called it on the antique street show’.
Silence.
‘I’m rich she said, now Go Away!’
