Cupboard Love

Last month I had a small basement room fitted with eleven floor to ceiling cupboards. The thinking was, rather than have a dismal, embarrassing dump in which junk would loom in high frightening towers for the rest of our lives, we would create a fabulous storage space in which all our rubbish could be put away out of sight and out of mind. The room is now a little walk-in sanctuary of order and repose. I visit it regularly just to exhale gently and feel on top of things.

The only problem is the cupboards remain completely empty. Beautifully fashioned from the best wood and all the best intentions, they are far too good to be contaminated with all our old stuff. I simply don't have the heart to clog them up with the 72 baby body suits and two moses baskets which may or may not be needed again, a mint condition table football game, my husbands impressive collection of LPs (a whole era wrapped in vinyl), seven panettones approaching their sell by date, many many boxes of papers labelled 'miscellaneous keep', some bottles of an evil Tunisian liqueur and the folders containing all my old school reports (Susie is an excellent pupil, conscientious, hardworking and kind- so what a great pity she was late for school 37 times this term). These cupboards are practically works of art. They deserve better.

I can't help fantasising about what would be more worthy contents for them . I've started collecting things that would make good presents. I have a pink and white striped cotton coat for a two year old from the Bonpoint sale in a pink box with a satin ribbon. I have four Chanel nail varnishes in Muse, Mythe, Trophee and Legende bought because I like the sound of that career trajectory and besides what could be a better last minute gift for a frazzled hostess who's keen on sandals. I also have a set of sugar pink miniature Pneidor correspondence cards and tissue lined envelopes - the sort of thing a very well bred doll would send after a tea party, two Missoni fringed beech wraps going cheap at the Bon Marche, some French photo albums, some Italian market-bought red and white and green linen hand towels, a Smythson bubble gum coloured leather Princess Thoughts notebook, two red and white checked picnic blankets and three copies of Pete's a Pizza the current juniour book of choice round here.

This afternoon I installed the purchases in three neat little rows. It then occurred to me I'd like to fill another section with wrapping paper and birthday cards and another cupboard on the other side of the room with 48 bottles of mineral water, 24 still, 24 sparkling, and a few cases of wine and a catering pack of two finger kit kats and six boxes of tall white candles, a battalion of spray starch canisters, pastel coloured wool in case I ever feel like knitting something, some gleaming metal trays for baking madelaines, hundreds of light bulbs and batteries and paper napkins and...and...

Then suddenly it hit me, I'm a long term lover of department stores - I don't use them to shop exactly, more as places to wander and marvel and think because I love the safety of plenty, the matching pans in descending sizes, the thick, powdery bales of towels. I often linger in the large cool stores just to get my bearings when I'm at a crossroads or when I have the sense of an ending. And now I am taking this love affair one step further by trying to create one in my own home. It isn't hard to justify-you just have to do the maths: everything on hand, all eventualities instantly catered for equals all disasters avoided. Doesn't it? Doesn't it?

A week has passed and what was the basement bathroom is still crammed with boxes and boots and broken toys we can't throw away and I'm starting to think about introducing these forlorn articles into their shiny new homes but you know, I'm not quite ready yet. I need more time to enjoy my beautiful empty cupboards. I'd like to plan carefully for their future. Perhaps I'll leave it to the new year.