Is perfectionism the enemy of improvement?

After a disaster with a cumbersome bed unit, Will Gore tries to make amends and develops a new mantra by which to live his life

Sometimes the best sprucing-up intentions don’t quite match the description on the tin (Getty/iStock)

Cabin beds are a bit of a rum do, really. In theory, they are the key space-saving device for your child’s bedroom, encouraging a general decluttering, and returning beauty to a place that had become a pit. But in fact, they seem to achieve precisely the opposite effect, with each composite element somehow cramped and inadequate; and the whole, as a consequence, rather less than the sum of its parts – at least from a usability point of view.

Paradoxically, this piece of furniture, which looks so neat in the online catalogue beneath high ceilings and in acres of floor space, is also a dominating hulk in a normal-sized room. It blocks the light, looms over anyone who dares enter, and fairly gloats at its own ludicrous size – which is wholly at odds with its actual storage capacity.

For a period, I had one of these beasts as a child. And I perhaps got lucky – or was an irritatingly tidy boy – since my recollections are all terribly fond. The little wardrobe on one side was big enough to hang my Cambridge United and England football kits in; the desk on the other side was a handy place to write my stories about Father Christmas’s travels in space; and the bed on the top was comfortable and, frankly, cool.