I don’t ♥ moving


Fourteen miniature sombreros that say ‘Viva Mexico’. Quite why and how these have existed in the back of my wardrobe for almost eight years is beyond me, but there you have it.

And now I’m trying to finalise my move to London by sorting out what is essential, what can be recycled, what can be given to charity and what can be trashed.

  • My cd collection has been reduced by about 40%.
  • Books will be axed by about 75%.
  • Clothes halved.

These categories are straightforward enough, but what of the other things that one uncovers? The artefacts of my pre-digital life?

  • The envelope stuffed with boarding passes, receipts, stubs and other paraphernalia from old holidays?
  • The rather cheap and nasty incomplete set of kitchen knives I had completely forgotten?
  • Old Valentine’s, birthday and Christmas cards, wedding invites, letters from people who once figured more prominently in my life?
  • My first iPod? MiniDisc player? Cassettes of those songs taped from the radio? Floppy discs?

Sorting and sifting through all this stuff does bring one back through the years and one can’t help but marvel at how quickly things change and we move on. Some friendships have distilled and improved, and new people have arrived on the scene. Some that were once a huge part of one’s life have moved on while others have been, ahem, ‘set free’.

But the music shall last. That has remained a constant in my life since about 1978!

Right, scorched earth policy, I say.

The fucking sombreros are toast.



  1. eguinan

    Doktoh: We knocked the edges off you so that you could be presented to polite society.

    Alan: Somewhere in heaven, 14 angels are singing La cucarachia like a celestial Alvin & The Chipmunks.

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