If, God forbid, I ever die, I don't suppose my great-grandchildren will want the Elvis Costello Songbook or the bejeweled Indian tunic, amply embroidered with elephants. So I planned to clear the attic of these dear items, along with everything else, even the potentially useful dried leftover paint and the framed Certificate of Profound Thanks.
Zeal gathered pace and it was announced on Tuesday to the assembled household that acquisition of new belongings must cease immediately. We will live with what we have, such as it is. An exemption for chocolate was requested and granted and there, I thought, the matter rested.
But Wednesday was Valentine's Day and the usual pony appeared from Scottish Husband. I look out the east window in dismay and there they are, the Valentine ponies, paddock upon paddock of them, cantering away.