Its 8am. Youre staring at the wild abyss that is your wardrobe: the seven identical shirts, the jumper embroidered with Ketchup that youre abnormally attached to and the white t-shirts bearing their very own grubby halo of foundation. Then theres the jeans. Oh, the jeans. We havent been able to park our arse in them for three years and counting and yet, theyre still here clinging on for dear life.

Youve called it its time.

You embark upon the character-building journey of clearing out your...