They say that if you really want to spring clean properly you should pretend that you’re moving house.

That’s the only way to properly motivate yourself to get rid of all your junk, paint all the bits that need it, clean, polish, declutter and generally restore your home to something you’d actually want to live in.

Which is what we’ve done. Except that we are actually selling up and moving on, so the whole process is utterly heart-breaking. We have lived for so long surrounded by the detritus of our lives, which got jumbled up or dispassionately moved from pile to pile in a futile attempt to clean up.

I’m largely to blame, as I have trouble emptying the dishwasher let alone cleaning, but there’s nothing like the prospect of losing your life savings to make you pull your finger out. In the past month our humble abode has been transformed into a gleaming oasis of taste and tranquillity, which I scarcely recognise. Gone are the cobwebs and windows covered in stickers and drawings. The fridge is clear of post-it notes, the piles of tottering, fading papers have disappeared, unwanted toys have been donated to charity and the attic is sparse. It’s only the understairs cupboard that gives you an inkling of our home’s previous incarnation.

It also means the men at the local tip have been working overtime getting rid of our rusty bikes, broken cots, an old BBQ, ancient love letters, tapes and school reports. Oxfam has had a field day with our vast collection of ‘maybe one day items’ (clothes that might come back into fashion but never do, unwanted furniture and paperbacks). In fact, it is absolutely astonishing how much junk you accumulate without even noticing.

And that’s before we’ve even begun on the kitchen gadgets. How did we get two Magimix’s, a Soda Stream, whole fruit juicer, pasta machine, electric hand whisk, salad dryer and a blender all in one cupboard anyway?

The entire process has been made somewhat less enjoyable by the fact that my other half is something of a hoarder, so getting him to relinquish his old Nintendo which he swears is now an antique, broken Christmas decorations, ancient stereos, video machines and dodgy 80s clothes, has been a lesson in diplomacy, and overt night-time disposal – I’m amazed he hasn’t noticed my covert trips to the outside bins in my nightie.

The garden too is transformed into somewhere I’d actually like to spend some time. Outside are new plants in nice pots, painted decking, a new barbecue, mended outdoor furniture, things growing and a mowed lawn. I keep driving past our house without recognising it, such is the metamorphosis.

But while I wander through the rooms, enjoying the new sense of space and cleanliness, it guts me that we have to leave now, when it’s at its best. There’s no place like home, especially when it’s your own.