after being unable to sell my (motor) bike earlier in the summer - got to be thankful for the credit crunch for something - it turns out i've got someone interested in my old alpinestars almega that's been sitting as a rebuild project in my garage/shed/flats since about 1997.
and yet when i got it all out yesterday and took pictures for the guy who's going to restore it i couldn't help but get mist eyed. here was the custom lacquered frame of my early mountain biking days, the first really 'fast' bike i'd had, my pride and joy, the scene of many of those early adventures. in the end it got itself replace with a univega y bike that i never really preferred and i stupidly loaned it to an idiot who never cleaned it which is how it ended up in bits. the friendship never really recovered!
it's just a stack of metal and bits yet i feel very attached to it, just like the worn out bits of kit i can't part with and leave out for t to dispose of when i'm not looking. what is it that makes us so attached to inanimate things. i can;t figure it out. whatever, the bike is going, it has to go. at least until i change my mind!
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Interesting. Not so for me, who has little sentiment for my own objects, and was not born with the "it might be useful one day" gene.
I despise myself, however, for having all the Pan Book of Horror series in the attic, plus legions of other written works I doubt I'll pick up again.
I am incapable of throwing out, or passing on, a book. Why, dear God, why?
I know! I'm hating that when Ruby grows out of her cradle and bouncer etc it'll be time to get rid of them and I can hardly bear it, sorry baby-brain here lol
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