Age journalists and writers share their humorous,poignant and thought-provoking tales about the objects in their lives that they just can’t seem to get rid of.
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Is it a thing of beauty or a ridiculous relic? Karl Quinn just can’t decide,but he knows that slot-car racing set is just too damn big.
It is part cape,part coat,short sleeves,no buttons,two pockets either side. It is made of rough wool and feels more like an artistic reshaping of a hessian bag.
Sometimes logic doesn’t explain the hidden feelings and belief systems we carry in our hearts,or the sentiment we ascribe to certain items.
No one in my family remembers where the porcelain rabbit money box came from,only that it has always been there.
“Is it from a packet?” was my grandmother’s grandest insult upon tasting a cake baked by her progeny.
Each time I buttoned them up I felt transformed from a twenty-something aspiring writer to a fully-fledged adult who knew things.
My collection of books,newspapers and other stuff has been growing very satisfactorily,despite the hopes of executives who introduced hot-desking.
There are three immovable orange objects in my house. One is very soft,one is very comfortable,and the third is a cheap piece of plastic that no one else would give a second thought.
Each orphan earring I own is a relic in my personal museum - the aftermath of an attempt at a micro-reinvention or a relationship break-up.
It can be a massive hassle,but I’ve never gone without at least one CRT TV in my house. The hardest part is choosing which one to keep.
I gave away my own CD collection when we moved into our house 12 years ago. My hoarder husband was having none of it.