I’m a terrible hoarder. My garage is the final resting place for retired domestic tat. In the rafters is a folding suitcase trolley I last used in 1988. On top of a 16″ television is my Dad’s puny two amp car battery charger. On the shelf is a punctured bicycle inner tube.
Why do I keep these and a hundred other items? In case they come in handy. But they never do, except for the old inner tube. I used that to fix up a splintered rake handle last weekend — so if you want to know why I’ve got black rubber on my tools, there’s a perfectly rational explanation….
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