The land that tidying up forgot

Every time I visit MIL's house I go through the same experiencial process.  The first day I fall in love all over again with this home's unpretentious shabby comfort.  This is a country home dating back to 1300 (in the cellar anyway) which is the epicentre of a large extended family and busy working property.
  

This place is busting with aretefacts and detritus gathered from a life lived in full.  Nothing here is arranged or designed to look like anything in particular, it has just evolved.  Which must surely be the secret to a truly interesting and rich interior.

 

But by day three, something starts to shift.  And then all of the sudden I feel overwhelmed with a compulsion to get a large proverbial broom and give it all a good a good clear out.   I'm itching to get stuck in and apply a thorough flossing.  For this is a house where 'putting things away', the household chore that seems to dominate my daily duties, just does not happen.   Being here is a like living in the home of the alter ego me that would really rather put my feet up with a book rather scuttle around picking up everybody's elses crap until 11pm every night.  Why bother?  Just go to bed!  If only I could.  Sadly the need to get up and give those surfaces a good clear and scrub would probably keep me awake at night.