Not a horder

Why when I'm not a horder do I end up with so much stuff?

The fact is, it's not things that I can't let go of it's the cloud of memories that float, anchored to them with strands of finest gossamer.

And sometimes it's even worse than memories. Sometimes it's a whole life-stage.

That was how Pascoe and I came to be standing looking sad in the loft on either side of a cardboard box. The contents of the box were plain white crockery and a secondhand wok so our sorrow seemed disproportionate.

Except...
This was stuff Pascoe had found at University, abandoned beside the bins on the day when overseas students flew home.  It had seen him and his brother and sister, and even some of their friends, through university and a little beyond. 

However, now they were all earning and developing their own taste there was no longer a use for this well-worn, utilitarian equipment.

We would take it out of the loft and give it away.

No wonder we were sad. Pascoe and his brother and sister were no longer riotous students but responsible adults.

End of an era.

"Come on," I said finally, "We'll take it to Oxfam. Perhaps another fresher will buy it and it'll go off to have fun at a new university.

...But of course, it will never have as much fun as it did with you, Pascoe."