The clocks have gone forward, April has arrived, and those kitchen cupboards won’t clean themselves.

There is something energising about the onset of spring. After enduring winter, head bowed against the wind and rain, reaching this new chapter of the year feels like emerging from hibernation.

Over winter I’m happy to curl up and procrastinate, when it comes to keeping my home in order, but once March has departed, like a lamb gambolling over a dewy meadow, a good spring clean beckons.

Having grown up in an untidy house – my mum always said there was more to life than housework, and she was right – I like to keep my home reasonably neat, but I’m not too hot on the nooks and crannies.

I know the skirting boards need a good scrubbing, and I think the last time I cleaned my windows was before the 2012 Olympics, and the under-stairs cupboard needs a clear-out, not to mention the desk in the spare bedroom heaving beneath bank statements dating back years that I never got around to shredding. I know all this, but I’ve become good at turning a blind eye.

But now there’s a harsh spring light shining through my grubby windows and I can no longer ignore the grimy corners and piles of stuff gathering dust. So, early Saturday morning, I was armed with a scourer, scrubbing away at my kitchen cupboards. I got through three cupboards and four drawers before moving onto the living-room. Having flicked a duster around, my plan was to get out the vacuum-cleaner before tackling the under-stairs cupboard – something I’d been putting off largely because I think a mouse once ran in there, to escape my bloodthirsty cats, and never came out.

But instead I rearranged my DVDs, which involved removing a load of books from the bookcase and replacing them with what I rather recklessly decided would be an alphabetical order of DVDs. This took a ridiculously long time. Left with a pile of books on my dining table, I’ll be eating from a tray on my lap until I find them a home.

The problem with spring cleaning is it’s easy to get distracted. Moving onto the unshredded bank statements, I came across a box containing about eight years’ worth of photographs I’ve been meaning to put into albums.

By the time I’d leafed through them, basked in a nostalgic glow recalling family holidays and romantic mini-breaks, it was late morning. I’d had enough of domestic chores, and a sunny day beckoned outside.

The other kitchen cupboards, the dusty skirting boards and grimy windows will have to wait. As will that poor mouse trapped in the under-stairs cupboard.