FEATURES editor has demanded I write article about spring cleaning for next month's issue of magazine, with emphasis on dejunking your house (or in my case, my desk).

While hers is immaculate shrine to patron saint of orderliness, mine is a tribute to marketing tactics of companies who choose Victoria Station as platform (literally) from which to sell their wares.

At start of year, station awash with men carrying five-gallon tanks on their backs, from which they dispensed free cups of coffee to celebrate 100 years of Nescafe.

Since then the hawkers who set up stall on the concourse have given us (actually, sold us) Sellotape dispensers, paper clip holders, milk bottle stoppers, sock clips and a host of other clever but useless designs.

This morning all I could hear as I made my way across the concourse were promises that "peeling an onion will never be the same again".

The message seemed to be emanating from a young Ben Affleck lookalike (presumably out-of-work actor doing a spot of promotional work while resting).

Either the similarity between himself and the Hollywood hunk, or the sheer force of the microphone attached to a picture of a large onion on his T-shirt, had enabled him to draw a crowd which, by any resting actor's standards, was pretty substantial.

Despite already running half an hour late for work, curiosity and the fact that blond athletic man from Hassocks was in substantial crowd, got the better of me.

Itoo decided to join the thronging mass, eager to receive a blessing from onion slicer man.

On display was innocuous looking gadget, not much larger than a potato peeler.

With it, in one deft movement, Affleck had peeled and sliced an onion before you could say "that'll be £25, please" - a phrase which seemed to be being repeated at an alarming rate.

So mesmerised was I by the skinning and chopping actions (and come-to-bed eyes) that, without realising it, I found myself at front of crowd being asked, through booming microphone, if I did a lot of cooking.

"Well, er..." I began, and was heading towards negative conclusion of sentence when spotted Hassocks looking at me in what I took to be an expectant manner.

Accordingly retracted route of sentence, finishing it: "Yes, all the time. I'm a fantastic cook - almost a chef in fact."

As punishment for telling such a huge lie in front of huge-ish crowd I found myself reaching for purse and handing over several notes.

"Now that," said tidy desk fetish editor when I arrived at work muttering explanations about lateness, "is a fantastic example of things to go in decluttering exercise."

Ignoring protestations that I had parted with £25 for said thing she removed onion gadget, along with Sellotape and sock things, from my desk and urged me to get on with spring cleaning feature.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.