Wendyl Nissen: Domestic frights under lights

Thanks to new residents and a hectic schedule, Wendyl's given up on the tidy bit.

I watched with horror a piece involving me, some chickens and my new book on TV's Campbell Live.

"Our house looks really crazy," said my husband.

"Nonsense," I said. "It just looks cosy, lived in, unpretentious."

"It looks like mad people live here. Really messy, mad people. We're one step away from those people who keep piles of old newspapers down the hall."

He did have a point.

In one shot, a pile of books was in the background, not neatly stacked but simply thrown in the corner waiting for someone to take them to the second-hand bookshop. That would be my husband's job.

Then there were the two baskets overflowing with what looked like articles of junk food, not neatly stacked but thrown in willy-nilly until they threatened to tumble on to the floor.

"How is that going to look when you write a column about only eating real food and you tell everyone you only eat anything with five or less ingredients listed on the label!"

"I think you'll find it's the healthiest junk food out there, and I never tell people I ban it from my children's diet. If you ban it, all they want to do is eat lots of it."

"You're not on camera now," he replied, "so you can save the lecture. I'm just saying you could at least have tidied up a bit."

I hadn't tidied up. It had been an outrageously busy week. Actually, for the past six months I've given up on the tidy bit as we've gone from a house of two adults and a 12-year-old to four adults and a 12-year-old with weekly visits from a 2-year-old.

But I had, for some reason, taken the time to go through the kitchen before the cameras arrived and remove several bottles of alcohol from the shelves. In my mind I guess it was better to be seen as a crazy, messy person than one who drinks brandy and Scotch and a bottle of bright green absinthe which I had been surprised to find tucked behind the other booze.

"It's for the sazerac," said my husband when I suggested that he might be hiding a drinking problem from me. As it turns out, he's just made it his mission to recreate a unique cocktail found in the best bars of New Orleans.

After the Campbell Live piece, I left town. I got in the car, grabbed my son and we recreated the East Cape road trips we used to do together not so long ago.

"Don't worry about the mess," I said over my shoulder as I headed out the door armed with books to read and plenty of coffee. "We'll have a big old de-clutter when I get home. Get a skip in. Have a garage sale. That sort of thing."

The road trip was anything but cluttered, with its wide vistas of perfect blue ocean, long sandy beaches, native bush and peaceful drives from one motel to the other. We paused only to raid op shops for more vintage lovelies for the home.

"I'm having a bit of a de-clutter," said my husband when I called him to check on the chickens. "Nothing to worry about, not chucking out anything you'll miss."

My heart sank for a moment, wondering what sought-after pieces of vintage crockery were at that moment being hurled on to the grass verge for anyone to adopt.

My husband never throws things out; he puts them out on the street for people to take. This is a great recycling idea, but sometimes I wonder what our neighbours think as they leave their recently remodelled minimalist houses to be greeted by an old television, a bent ironing board and a computer keyboard.

Then I took another bite of freshly caught crayfish and imagined my new, sparse house, good enough for any TV camera.

"What happened to the de-clutter?" I asked on returning home to find it exactly as I had left it.

"Oh, I just re-arranged a few things," he said. "I'm so glad you're home; I can't seem to find the absinthe."