Clare couldn’t have been happier to see the back of my biltong machine, at the old flat it sat by the front door and, when not in use, had become a handy dumping ground for keys and coats or anything that you were carrying as soon as you got in. Useful…yes. Unsightly, I suppose… but then again, the enormous tungsten carbide drill used to bore the Euro tunnel was an equally ugly behemoth, and look what that achieved.
When we moved into my Brother’s flat last year, the addition of a cellar was a godsend for all the unwanted garb that we, sorry I, had accumulated in the last residence. I admit it, I am a hoarder, be it shoeboxes, jam jars, rocks, sand, wood, pointless leaflets, string, rubber bands and pens: at least if the world comes to an end I have stacks of useful ‘stuff’. As a child my pockets were laden with rubbish, but what my mother didn’t know every time she emptied them before washing, was that what she thought was rubbish, was in fact a rudimentary Survival kit.