Sunday, 12 January 2014


"You know, these aren't terribly valuable. You should just bin them." He uttered looking over the items I had out ready to be repaired.

He was right, of course. If I chose to sell the items, a brown, chicken-shaped egg store the base broken in two, a teapot with a chipped spout and a fine china teacup with a broken saucer, they wouldn't make anything more than £20 - if I were lucky. 

I didn't want them to be repaired to make money, following the lead of all these antiques shows the television is saturated with and quite clearly show you how. I just wanted to keep them going for longer. I wanted to keep them in my life .  I wanted to enjoy them for a few more years as these items, as worthless as he had made them seem had a value to me.

One had been a gift, another a first item purchased when I left home. Things that have long been part of my family but also there to mark important milestones

Even now, years later, I find the attitude to things odd. Why not repair something even if the monetary value is so low? Why does it always have t be about money? Why can't it be about beauty or about  the quality of an item? Why does it always come down to pounds and pence?

The insane view 'you are what you buy' has stuck firmly amongst those I know. New cars, mobiles every few years. A new wardrobe of clothes each season. It all seems so wasteful. They often poke fun at my way of being. Choosing not to buy new slippers but sew on new soles. Dyeing my faded jeans or using all the scraps of fabric to make a quilt. 

It's a slow life, not for everyone. The brown chicken pot was finally smashed to pieces in a house move and lines the bottom of a plant pot. The teapot was given a new home when I sourced a bigger one from a charity shop as my family grew and the teacup has found a new saucer, it doesn't match and my tea doesn't taste any different! 

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