Fettled

The good Tony is putting up the wardrobe we acquired from the Professor’s aunt, the one now nesting in a home for the somewhat confused. It’s a much better item of furniture than the one it replaces, with a good deal more infrastructure, and Tony seems to be really enjoying putting it together (a process not yet complete). There was a lot of  ‘that’s neat. It’s nice to see something properly made’, etc. Rational craftsmanship gives him genuine pleasure, which I find endearing. Meanwhile, before dismantling the old wardrobe, a somewhat unsatisfactory object bought from the antique dealer we christened Mrs Villain, I can’t think why, we had to empty it, and it was logical to chuck out items of no further use. Some garments were declared legally dead, or rag rug material, or suitable for the charity shop. But I have to admit that throwing out some of the shoes I will never wear again cost a pang or two. The shoes I wore when I was stepping out in my early twenties, are the ones I have just binned. I looked after them; they were re-heeled and generally kept nice, and are still in good nick. But not new, so nobody else would want them, and with my collapsing big toe joints, I couldn’t conceivably wear them. Time to be sensible. But, though the Marilyn Monroe vertiginous slingbacks and the red lace-up boots from Anello & Davide didn’t quite merit a tear as they went in the rubbish sack, there was a certain mistiness.