I need to confess that my roller blades, wrist and knee guards did not leave my car - they were just too good to give up randomly. The boots say that they are size US8, UK7? They fit me even though my feet are actually UK size 5.5? Well, now I have a week to vanish these boots.
I've only worn the blooming things twice. The boots alone cost over £140. They were a folly of my late 20s, after I had a couple of hilarious blading lessons with some friends and convinced myself that I would be the next Jane Torville of West London's pavements. The wrist/knee bits were 2nd hand from the states and were a christmas present from my parents. I even bought myself a trendy backpack to lug the lot around in.
The reason that I only wore them twice? The stupidity of my purchase dawned on me, when I was in a heap on the floor, just before the start of my sports season and I realised that if I broke myself, it would kill my GB team aspirations!
I am hoping that Mel will take them for her son - at least this way, I know that they are going to a good home!
It was good to get rid of all my UK size 16 clothes and let go of all those clothes that I have been hoarding since my teens. I was hoarding them because I was miffed, as a teenager, that my parents never kept any of their clothes for me - cos, you know, they would've been vintage and dead cool at that point.
However, I do not have children yet. If I ever do? Even if I do have a girl, it'll be another 14-18 years until she is grown enough to wear my cast off teenage errors. Sigh, do you know what? I just need to face the fact that it is highly unlikely that it will ever be cool to wear a brown suede tassel jacket - ever again. Not even for dressing up. Even though I saved up for months and made a trip especially to the oh-so-trendy Kings Road to buy it. Yup. With my dyed black hair, shocking pink lipstick from Miss Selfridge and my black suede winkle picker boots. I was such an Eighties, pretend goth tragedy.
If you are screaming, 'No, no, no! How could you give that away?!' Go check Oxfam in Teddington - they now have a heap of my stuff, including a velvet crop top that I bought in Camden and I wore clubbing to the Hammersmith Palais back when everyone else was wearing smiley face t-shirts. ALSO they have the entire outfit that I wore to my stepsister's wedding in Brussels in about 1989-90? Comprised of a black silk Jigsaw dress, black suede heels, and the most astonishing, fabric designer shrug that was all braids and gold beads down each sleeve. Man alive. That-was-something.
Yet in my head I was - hot damn - cool at that wedding. That is, until I slipped on the dance floor and showed the entire, extremely chic, Belgian wedding reception party my ever-so-slightly-less-cool, huge, black M&S granny knickers.
Moving swiftly on...
...otherwise today? I think that I have packed my craft stuff?
Maybe I have not? Okay, got a bigger box anyone?!
Tomorrow, I head to the local dump to recycle the textiles not good enough for the charity shop and I continue the rationalisation of 'my stuff'. It's quite hard detatching myself from it all, actually.