Favourite things

My other half is having to do a sort of presentation today on the topic of All About Me. Not a powerpoint one though, it could be anything you like. Just a collection of photos, for instance, or something you have made.

I suggested he take in some of his favourite things, which seemed quite easy to decide upon. They were:

1. His Tenori-on (a magical, musical light box of an instument)

2. The blue sweater with bows on that he wore when we first met

3. His bottle of Indian Ink

4. A Richard P. Feynman or Gerald Durrell book

5. His Vietnamese Coriander plant

It reminded me a little bit of that great book which looks like an auction catalogue and lists all of the artefacts of a relationship, following the couple’s break up. Only not the breaking up part, just the fetishizing of everyday objects part.

It got me thinking what would some of my characters’ five favourite things might be.

For Ade from Boy in the Tower he would probably choose his red rucksack, his scrapbook, the map his friend Gaia gave him, the fortune from a fortune cookie Dory gave him and maybe a faded, old t-shirt with a picture of cat on it that doesn’t really fit him any more.

What would be on my list then?

Well, my ukulele for one and my scalpel for another, we decided straight off. (I like a little uke and paper cutting on the side) (I promise I was doing both of these things before they became incredibly popular and now everyone’s doing them – or at least, that’s what I think happened, maybe I was actually just part of the herd.)

Then, my chrome book, I said. I bought it when I started writing all the time.

And my engagement ring. It doesn’t look like an engagement ring at all really and we chose it together in St. Ives.

But what was my last thing?

I couldn’t think.

I racked my brains.

Nothing.

I gave up and started going through my internal To Do list instead and hit upon one of the items that has been nagging me for a while: My car needs a MOT.

I think I’m in denial about it because I know it will probably fail and cost a ghastly sum of money to get fixed up. And I know that I will pay it anyway because I love my car even though “You’re not a motorhead!” ( – My Dad.)

I love it because it’s my Mum’s old car and even though I hated it when I was little (my legs would stick to the seats on a sunny day, I wanted us to have a car like other people etc etc) now, it’s one of my favourite things. It should have been at the top of my list.

It’s an old, old Beetle, a white one.

I love to hear her roar, which seems like the most familiar sound to me in the world because my Mum drove this car from when I was very small. And I like how she brings smiles to lots of people’s faces and also how she bring grimaces to others who don’t like the way she smells.

I’m sure the reason I like her so much though is that she has been in our family for so long (she’s older than me for cripes sake!) that she feels like another family member now. And she’s not ready for retirement quite yet.

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