The kids have inherited my instinct for hoarding – but not my desire for order

My daughter is determined that all her things have meaning; they are pieces of her life. And given my own similar tendencies, I am really in no position to argue, writes Will Gore

Mustering up a single book for a charity shop cull is torture (Getty/iStock)

By instinct, I am a hoarder. There are various drawers in our house which contain all sort of bits and bobs – some useful, some less so. And in a cupboard under the eaves there are at least two large crates full of school projects and certificates and photos from 30 years ago. Somewhere, there is a shoe box with a thousand Panini football stickers in it – swaps dating from 1985 to 1994. I must have at least a dozen Gary Linekers.

At least all this stuff is pretty well hidden – out of sight, out of mind. I’m also terrible about ever getting rid of books, however, even ones I’ve started and didn’t much enjoy. And most of my books are very much not hidden. Instead, they’re squeezed into over-filled bookshelves, on ledges and in piles (albeit neat ones).

Occasionally, my wife will initiate a book cull and will produce 10 of hers to go to the charity shop. I will wander around the house, before finally alighting on a thin paperback which was a gift from someone who didn’t realise I’m terrified of ghost stories. Even parting with that will be a struggle, but at least I’ve made a contribution. The gap on the shelf won’t remain unfilled for long though.