We had something akin to a royal visit here last week. 

One of the siblings came up to visit Dad for the first time in about 18 months. He originally planned to stay just three days but, because his car broke down, he found himself stranded here for over a week.

The initial diagnosis was a broken fan belt, which seemed straightforward enough: a matter of ordering the necessary parts and then fitting them. But with each problem solved a new one was created; in the end the AA came out again and said there was an underlying fault, something that would require the services of a garage with a ramp. A pity they hadn’t said that in the first place.  So we took the car to be fixed and suddenly my brother was a man without a mission.  Luckily I had been secretly drawing up a list of jobs that needed to be done.

Fixing the gate, emptying the shed and clearing out the garage, stopping the washing machine from shimmying around the place during its spin cycle. The sort of things that some people - i.e. him - find easy, but which I can’t do or don’t want to do on my own.

We started work on a warm sunny day by emptying the contents of the shed on to the lawn. Five decades worth of plastic flowerpots; some bits of wood only useful now as a playground for woodworm; a rusty bicycle of uncertain provenance, some broken slates from the roof, a lawn mower that gave up the ghost some time last century, and the mummified bodies of a family of rats. I’m very glad I was doing something else when they were found!

We created various piles - stuff to throw away, to give to the charity shop and to keep.  We then made three trips to the tip - more properly known as the recycling centre - where we deposited our haul of metal, wood, electrical items and general rubbish.  I discovered that not all recycling centres recycle the same things.  If I had been in London I could have taken all the plant pots to a place where the plastic would have been reused in some way, but up here in Glasgow they had to be chucked into the general waste skip, destined for landfill, which was rather dispiriting.

We took boxes of small, portable things to the local charity shop, who also agreed to collect a couple of large items that wouldn't fit in my car.  Which just left us with a small number of items that didn't have an obvious home and which were at risk of being shoved back into the shed only to re-emerge at some later, no doubt more fraught date, in the future.

I took the bike to Common Wheel, a charity which provides support to people with mental illness through practical work - with bicycles - and music therapy.  I was rather embarrassed by the bike, but they were thrilled. Where I had seen only rust and arthritic cables they could see valuable spoke hubs, and coach built quality.

The money raised from the sale of reconditioned bicycles, along with the services and repairs carried out at the workshop, goes towards funding Common Wheel’s music division. Polyphony gives people with mental health problems access to musical activities. Their work with dementia patients can be particularly valuable. So the old bike in the shed has not only provided work but it has helped bring music into the life of someone who might otherwise be without it. Not bad for something that was destined for the knacker’s yard.

The last item on the list was a 1970s hostess trolley. One that had been passed on to Mum - and which she had no doubt accepted with her customary graciousness - but which was never used. Whenever I look at it I hear Victoria Wood singing Let’s Do it. “This folly, is jolly, bend me over backwards on me Hostess trolley….’

I phoned Titan Props, who have a giant warehouse round the corner from us and who supply all manner of props for films and TV.  Would they be interested in it? It would surely be central to any remake of Abigail’s Party?

Yes, they would be interested. So I’m taking it to its new home this afternoon, and throwing in a hand-operated Vickers Sewing machine which I think belonged to my grandmother, in the hope that some broadcaster or other is planning to revive The House of Eliott or similar.

These aren’t things that have a particular sentimental value, they aren’t worth any real money (I checked); I don’t want to take them back with me to London and there isn’t anyone else in the family interested in having them, but I still want them to go to as good a home as I can find for them while I have the time and the inclination.

Buoyed up by the cathartic nature of this Spring Clean I have just agreed to donate almost 100 of Mum’s Penguin paperback books to the Women’s Library of Glasgow. They have no budget to buy books and rely entirely on donations. This seems a good home for the books and I'm sure Mum would approve. I'm now looking for an antiques fair to sell some of the old and even older tea sets and candle sticks languishing in the back of the kitchen sideboard. There is something very rewarding about seeing the delight on other people’s faces as they stumble across something that they’ve been looking for, or is just the very thing they need for their fashionably retro décor.

Come the day when we have to properly empty the house I’ll be glad we started this first clear out on a bright weekend, with Dad finally able to sit in the garden and supervise our efforts while drinking tea, scoffing cake and soaking up the sunshine.

If you have an unwanted bicycle and are in the Glasgow area please think of donating it to Common Wheel.