Compelled to go rummaging through the archives today. The parents are shortly due to sell the family mansion and all of a sudden the happily ignored boxes of school work, correspondance, knick knacks and tat need to be decamped forthwith.
‘Get round here and throw a load of stuff out’ they requested and I attended duly obliged by the promise of a home-made curry and a couple of beverages.
Still, digging through the archives was a tough one. Cataloguing the evidence of the last 29 years, from happy birthday you’re 3 today cards to anguished correspondence from a collection of the finest post-uni reprobates. Essays on Jane Austen books mixed in with old photos, gig tickets, railcards, and scribbled notes. Essentially a catalogue of everything that had meant something to me, and that I felt I might want to see again. I felt most strongly reminded of the jokes caught, the trouble caused and the hearts broken along the way.
So needless to say, though I tried to be ruthless, I am now the proud possessor of one more box in my overcrammed flat. I am leafing through letters from co-conspirators, considering some retrospective re-publishing and of course, strongly contemplating whether it all went wrong or right.