What I really like about Easter is the fact that, with luck, everyone I know goes away and leaves me in peace for four days.

Four lovely, uninterrupted days when there'll be no phone calls, no one ringing the front doorbell and I can get my life in order.

And by that I mean take the Inland Revenue's latest begging letter (OK, self- assessment form) out of its envelope, inspect the kitchen window sill for wet rot and put the Christmas tree (artificial) back in the loft.

Yes, that's right, the Christmas tree, that object you festoon with tinsel and glass balls every December.

And, yes, I DO know it's April and that Christmas came and went almost four months ago, but in my house there's no such thing as the Twelve Days of Christmas.

No, in my house Christmas usually drags on and on until Easter, which for me has always been the time I finally get round to doing all those tasks (such as returning the Christmas tree to the loft) I've been meaning to do since . . . well, January the first.

Easter, whether it's in March or April, signals the end of my winter hibernation. It's time for me to gaze around with a dazed expression, wondering where the first quarter of the year went. Or, as happened this year (this Monday to be precise), to wonder where the last ten years have gone.

While I was in the loft, you see, I decided to clear out carrier bags of old correspondence, photographs, birthday cards, notes to the milkman - everything that could rightfully be described as clutter, hidden clutter.

I read recently that Laurence Olivier was a celebrated clutter bug, hoarding everything from intimate letters to old bus tickets and dry cleaning bills.

The big difference, of course, between myself and Lord Olivier - and there are at least a hundred other differences, including the fact that he is dead and I, for the moment, am not - is that he was, is, a Very Famous Person.

Famous People's clutter is called memorabilia and is usually saved for posterity, being auctioned after their deaths for many thousands of pounds or given to university libraries, here and abroad, for the use of researchers and biographers.

Nonentities' clutter (i.e. yours and mine) ends up in black bin liners outside our homes, to be taken away by grim- faced refuse collectors - we hope - as mine will be before the end of this week.

Yet, what I found in the loft made fascinating reading - to me at least.

There was an old building society passbook showing £2.50 in the account and interest last entered in 1993 and an unfilled-in entry form for a playwriting competition (1994) - OK, we all have our aspirations.

There was a letter, sadly unanswered, from a friend in America who has since died and various reminders of 'things to do', circa 1994 - things like having my teeth capped (done), my toe straightened (done) and dealing with the damp on the back bedroom wall . . .

Damp? Back bedroom? Right, there's one for the 2000 AD list, once we've scraped the mushrooms off the plaster.

Later in the day, when The Mother (mistress of the cutting remark) arrived, she noticed the Christmas tree had finally gone back into the loft.

"Well, Happy New Year!", she said.

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