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."

University Reunion

As we drove up the A1 for the reunion, I said to Nigel,

“I can’t believe that all that time, next to our hall of residence, there was that great big orchard and we never scrumped the apples.”

“I suppose we were too busy with our friends.  Well, the apples should be ripe now.  And there are carrier bags in the boot.”

“We’ll get some after the reunion.”

We had a companionable dinner with old friends.  The next morning we attended chapel and then over breakfast, Rosie suggested we collect the key and climb the stairs to the tower. 

I have thirty-three year old photos of a whole gang of us standing up there in front of the low parapet, arms round each other, our hair blowing in the strong wind. But nowadays only four of us were allowed up at a time and a metal bannister stopped us from accidentally toppling over the edge.

When we looked out over the view, there were more changes.  Beneath us our redbrick college still glowed and its grounds stretched out green.  But beyond, in nearly every direction, new buildings were going up, including a whole new village called Eddington.  I felt like a creature from a bygone era.

Afterwards, amid embraces and farewells, we went back to the car park where there had once been a sheep field, and drove away.

“Darn it,” I said, “I forgot to pick any apples.”

“Well.  Clearly then, some things never change.”

Postscript:

I reconnected with Andrea Skevington who also has a blog. Her amazing poem about spiders has resonated with me in the days since.  You can find it here:

https://andreaskevington.com/2017/09/21/spiders/

Then

Now - photo by Rosie

Now - Photo by Rosie

Graduation

11.20 am

As I write this, we are sitting in nose-to-tail traffic on the M4.  Perran is to be in his seat in the Wills Building by 12.45 at the latest.  Before then, he must have picked up his gown and graduation tickets from the Richmond Building.  But our ETA is currently 1:40.  We have already abandoned hope of the photo session we’d booked.  And even when we get there, parking will be tough – we thought we’d left plenty of time, but apparently not.

There has been a crash ahead.  As callous human animals, we are measuring only the inconvenience to our own lives.  I force myself to say a prayer for those whose world has just been turned upside down by the road accident.

But then it’s back to us again.

This was supposed to be a carefree day, all dressed up in our best clothes, tipsy on sunshine, prosecco and happiness. 

And now Perran might miss his own graduation ceremony.

8.30 pm

On our way home now.  It has been a splendid occasion.

This morning, the traffic had started moving and our ETA dropped rapidly, like a tide of disaster ebbing. 

We rubbernecked at the wrecked Landrover.  The headroom was largely intact so we hope the passengers and driver survived.

In Bristol, the graduation ceremony was brisk yet meaningful, cleanly choreographed and garnished with homilies of good advice. Afterwards there was the pleasure of meeting the parents of Perran’s friends.

It rained heavily, which shouldn’t be allowed at graduation ceremonies, but we were just pleased to be there.  Even the rain made us happy.

And now it’s time to say a little prayer that we get home safely.