Regrets.

Regrets? I’ve got a few.

There was the time in 1944 when I gave away my best China Doll. My mother said I would regret it, and she was right. But it’s a bit too late to ask for it back now.

Then there was the Khaki and Turquoise Raw Silk Sari I didn’t buy in Singapore in 1968. But it was the equivalent of 20 Quid, which was a lot of money in those days.

And why on earth did I auction off an overstuffed, horsehair sofa in 1977? It would have been perfect here. But at least I got a bit more for it than I paid.

Then, I went and sold an antique Over Mantle for 50 Pounds in 1983. It must be worth a fortune now.

I did give away a beautiful, round Oak Table to my eldest son at some date that I can’t remember. But his wife didn’t like it, so he gave it back to me. Thank God for that. I am still using it now, with it’s pen marks and scratches from my three children. But that is just part of its long life.

Julian has still got the quarter sized Billiard come Dining Table that I didn’t have room for at the time. His wife doesn’t like it, so it’s in a shed. Absolutely no chance of getting that back. But, Julian does at least have good taste, so it might come into its own again one day.

I have lost track of the things I gave to Robin. He’s got good taste in material things, but not much sense when it comes to his women, so most of that went walk about when he was dumped, several times. Fortunately, I resisted all entreaties to part with any of my multiple Greenwheat Dinner Service. All bought painfully slowly when I could afford it. Heaven knows where that would be now if I hadn’t. Half way round The World, no doubt. You can’t buy it these days, not even to order.
I was devastated when Fred Quimby died. It was all hand painted by him, and then his son, until he retired. So every piece is a unique gem.
They are even asking 50 quid on E-bay for a single mug these days, but even I am not that sort of a mug.

Basically, I am an unrepentant hoarder, most of which has been found on Tips and in Barns. Abandoned because no one wanted it or loved the real beauty of these things. It will all outlive me.
And then my children can have a lovely time rooting through all of the rubbish.
If only I could be there.

Sorry about The Sari, Fellers. One of your wives might have liked that. But I still have the black wool, Bedouin cloak, bought in Tangier for a fiver one racy weekend when I was still daft enough to get on an aeroplane. I did wear that a few times during my hay days.

So the regrets haven’t been all that important. And certainly never for any of you.