Spring unnerves me – I can’t help but notice how neglected everything looks

It’s the time of year when sunlight suddenly floods your home and you realise your kitchen is absolutely filthy – and you notice how pasty your ankles are, writes Jenny Eclair

If I received a fat windfall, I’d have a mature magnolia tree planted outside my window (PA)

I have entered the “disgruntled phase”. Spring often unnerves me – it’s the time of year when sunlight suddenly floods your home and you realise your kitchen is absolutely filthy. Especially the windows: after all, the window cleaner hasn’t been indoors for 12 months.

Spring is when you remove your socks and notice how pasty your ankles are; it’s when that cardi finally comes off, only to reveal an extra cushion of flesh which has inextricably attached itself to your stomach.

Everything is tired and needs renewing or refurbishing. I’ve almost worn through my TV chair; the sofa fabric is a distressing shade of dingy; light fittings have broken and my kitchen cupboards are chipped.

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Physically, I’m in an even worse state than the house, what with my home-bleached yellow hair – and why on earth did I give up jogging?! If I’d kept up the jogging, I’d be able to tuck a t-shirt into a pair of jeans by now – yes, those jeans that have been sitting at the bottom of my wardrobe filed under “one day” for almost a decade.

The house needs an overhaul. I need an overhaul – and my car is on its knees. After a year of neglect, the AA tended to my poor old car twice within a week, recently. A third time would have been rude; so, in order to save face, when something else went wrong, I proceeded to operate on the poor thing myself.

Let me explain: I have an ancient Mercedes coupe, complete with fabulous black leather upholstery. Sadly, because she’s 26 years old, when the ultra low emission zone comes in in October, I wont be able to afford to keep her in London.

Hopefully, I’ll be able to retire her, like an old donkey to a good home in the country; where keeping her on the road won’t cost £12 a day. In the meantime, with nowhere to go and nothing to do, she rusts and grows moss in her creases.

Recently, her battery has been going flat overnight; a condition I share with the old banger – that feeling of having done nothing, for hours on end, but still being completely knackered.

As I say, the AA rebooted her twice within four days, last week. So, this week – when the butler belt got jammed and the belt motor refused to stop whirring – I decided, rather than allow this fault to drain the battery again, to fix it. I got some pliers, snipped a couple of tendons and disabled the automatic belt function myself.

I’ll be honest – it was an awful thing to have to do. The seat belt still works, but my once-brilliant car no longer automatically passes it politely to the passenger, and civilisation takes another step backwards.

It’s not just our cars that are breaking down and disintegrating, either – sometimes it feels like the whole of London is falling to pieces. I don’t know what it’s like anywhere else; but in the past fortnight, my daughter’s road in New Cross has suffered both drain and electrical issues.

Wifi is patchy all over the capital because there isn’t enough signal to go round during a pandemic, and recently – whilst walking through Covent Garden – the place looked tatty and rat infested.

Everything is suffering from either neglect, or too much daily wear and tear – and it’s going to cost a fortune to repair and polish. I pity all those bar and restaurant managers, desperate to open up again, who are no doubt going to be faced with all sorts of problems once they unlock their premises. We’ve all seen what happens to abandoned buildings, rot sets in very quickly when there’s no one there to stop it – when will the money start flowing again?

Loads of folk I know are pretty pandemic-skint, now. With savings diminished, millions of people are gritting their teeth and repeating, “as long as we can eat and pay the mortgage and bills, we should count ourselves lucky”, but it’s been a whole year of doing that. No wonder folk are desperate for treats.

Occasionally, I feel like my whole life is being rationed: can’t do this, can’t go there – if it’s not a necessity, do I really need it? I reckon some people will be relieved foreign holidays are banned, this year. They can’t afford to go abroad, anyway.

Sometimes, I lie in bed at night and fantasise about spending a big injection of cash – one of those fat windfalls that appears from nowhere. A new car would be nice, but so would an electric bike – and a specially built bike porch to keep it safe.

I’d repaint the whole house, and retile the shower room; go mad and buy a new sofa, replace all the cushions I’m bored s**tless of, splurge out on new bed linen and fresh towels, burn the contents of my wardrobe and start again.

But first of all, I’d have a mature magnolia tree, in full bloom, planted outside my study window. Until then, at least the glorious spring blossom is cheering up the ’hood – and what’s more, it’s free.