I t's been a funny time of late. Either the world if going funny or I'm going funny – perhaps it's both! Some things have been funny-good and some funny-bad. I suppose if one good cancels out one bad, everything is hovering around equal; slack water, in tidal terms.

For a start there's no sight of a buyer on the cottage front. This means I can basically live as I've always done; putting things down rather than putting them away and waiting for the rain to wash the windows and the washing machine to leak and wash the floor (the house is tiled throughout).

I haven't given a thought to clearing out the attic, where a 30-year-old portable television sits in dusty isolation alongside half a stereo system (the postman bagged the turntable) and two bags of Christmas decorations.

The other main occupant of the loft is a stereo from the 1970s that, my husband assures me, is of the finest quality, being a Garrard deck, and worth more than I paid for it – £75 if I remember rightly.

Leftover tiles from floors and walls sit neglected along with three branched candelabra that we're not likely to use ever again. And there are pots of paint in shades varying from brilliant white to dark plum. They're being kept for touching-up purposes in case of accidental knocks and sticky handprints that are resistant to wet wipes.

Placing a house on the market in the past resulted in half-a-dozen viewings, at least one or two of which, maybe even three, would make an offer. In the present climate, it's more about getting a viewing in the first place.

This is not a good thing. OK, the market is slow and nothing's likely to improve before the General Election, but (and this is a very big but), let's look at this on a more personal, day-to-day level.

If you're not going to get a viewing, what's the point of keeping things in showroom condition?

There's no point rushing to clean off those sticky finger marks, plump up the cushions on the settee, or get rid of the spider from the corner of the kitchen door, unless someone is coming to view – preferably with a mortgage in place and cheque book in hand.

If Mr Moon, my estate agent, rings up and excitedly exclaims the existence of a would-be buyer, his tone reminiscent of David Attenborough discovering a species of desert reptile never before seen by man, I will immediately turn into Bionic Woman.

Out will come the vacuum cleaner, the beeswax polish, the Shake and Vac and the air freshener.

Tasks will be set for him who prefers not to get involved in housework – clean the windows for starters, including the conservatory.

If time before said phone call and viewing is too minimal for a pair of willing hands (and one pair not so willing) to set to and achieve maximum results, then I'll have to resort to sneaky subterfuge.

Number one: bake a cake. Even if it fails to rise, at least the smell gives the right impression of a country kitchen and hive of home-made activity.

Number two: use carpet freshener powder. Lilies of the Valley puffing from behind a stout piece of furniture will do the job.

Number three: open tin of very expensive beeswax polish and leave it behind a plant pot. You may have not had time to make the effort of polishing, but smelling polish fools the brain into thinking you've made the effort.

Number four: brew a fresh pot of filter coffee.

Now this is where I hit the buffers. I haven't brewed a pot of filter coffee for years. I think it's in the loft with the old stereo systems, the two bags of Christmas decorations and the spare tiles, paint tins and other debris - in which case I have some clearing out to do.