As has previously been discussed here; I find it hard to let
go of things. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the area of my wardrobe. Some
of the clothing items there have been with me for over a decade. This is not because
of any environmentally conscious mind-set
on my part. But rather due to the fact that, at some unconscious level,
I expect all of my clothing to last
forever and cannot really appreciate that some vestments need to be consigned
to the dustbin. I often refer to certain shirts as ‘my new shirt’ despite the
fact that I actually purchased it three of four years hence.
As a psychotically organised individual; I have a strict
method to clothing storage. Trousers on one side, then shirts then warm clothing.
As I am the only one in the household who every puts laundry away, this system
has been rigidly observed for some years. I have two rails of clothing (one
atop the other). The top rail for smart work wear and the bottom for the
shambolic crap that I dress in at home.
When a new item of clothing arrives it heralds the beginning of an arduous, decade long process
of being digested by the Salak of my wardrobe system. For two or three years it
will remain on the ‘best work wear’
rack. But then the inevitable happens and I must sadly admit that it is looking
frayed and old. At which point it is demoted to the lower ‘casual wear’ rack.
From this point on it is a slow decline for another four
years or so until it has too many holes or stains in to be safe to wear outside
the house. The last three years are a
shameful time for it as I refuse to throw it out but wear it when relaxing at
home . Then finally I have to get rid of it.
My last pair of jeans reached this Nadir a few months back and
I just couldn’t bring myself to chuck them out. They had holes in which I had
repeatedly repaired but even I had to admit that jeans with a massive rip across
the groinal area were a fashion ‘faux pa’s even for me. It had gotten to the point
that I couldn’t sit across from anyone without the risk of seriously indecent
exposure.
In the end I have landed upon the perfect solution. Like the
Vikings of old, I now send the ‘honoured dead’ to their fabric afterlife upon a
flame filled chariot (which is to say that I chuck my old clothing in the
stolid fuel burner in the winter mornings in order to keep warm).
Watching as my
clothing gradually surrenders to the fierce glory of the flames feels epic and allows me some form of primal
closure. I feel as if I am some ancient warrior
shooting a fiery shaft into a
longboat and standing in solemn silence
to watch it burn as it drifts away.
‘ A pair of great trousers comes to meet their fellows in Valhalla
this day. Trousers that have rode out many storms in this life. Though vicious stains
were visited upon them and farts beyond number ravaged the brave fabric of
their gusset they stood true. But now they come home. To the great Levi 501’s
store of the skies. There they will be born aloft on the legs of worthy hero’s
and never again kicked under my bed and forgotten about for weeks on end’
And then I set a match to them and watch them burn. But only
after cutting off some of the material to make Barbie doll dresses for my
daughter. I mean for goodness sakes, I have to have SOMETHING to remember them
by!
New and better blogsite coming later this year!
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